Unexpectedly in Love

GROOM: Divorce attorney Nash Davenport had seen enough bad endings to know that marriage was a mistake. When he had asked Savannah Charles to marry him, it was out of mutual necessity–not love. BRIDE: Weddings were Savannah’s business and she Read more

First Comes Love

Julia Conrad wasn’t a patient woman at the best of times. She paced her office, repeatedly circling her high-gloss black-lacquer-and-brass desk. She felt so helpless. She should’ve gone to Citizenship and Immigration Services with Jerry rather than wait for their decision.

Rubbing her palms together, she retracted the thought. She was a wreck and the Immigration people would have instantly picked up on that and it could hurt their case. She couldn’t help being anxious. The future of the company rested on the outcome of today’s hearing. Ultimately she was the one responsible for the welfare of Conrad Industries, the business her grandfather had started thirty years earlier.

In an effort to calm herself she stared out the window. The weather seemed to echo her mood. There was a ceiling of black clouds, thunder roared and a flash of lightning briefly brightened the room. The lights flickered.

Julia’s reflection was mirrored in the window and she frowned, mesmerized by the unexpected sight of herself.

Her dark hair was swept back from her face and secured with a gold clasp. She wore a dark suit with a pale gray blouse, which—in her view, anyway—conveyed tasteful refinement. She looked cool, calm and collected, but inside she was a mass of tension and nerves. At thirty she had a pleasant face when she smiled, but she hadn’t been doing much of that lately. Not in the past three years. Her cheekbones were high, her jaw strong, but it was her eyes that told the story. Her eyes revealed vulnerability and pain.

The image of herself distressed Julia and she hurriedly glanced away. Sighing, she circled her desk once more, silently praying for patience. She was determined to get the company back on its feet, to overcome the odds they faced. Jerry, her brother, had worked with her, sacrificing his personal life the way she had hers. They’d met with a handful of small successes. And now this.

Both Julia and Jerry were determined to revive Conrad Industries. Julia owed her father that much. Jerry had shown such faith in her by volunteering his services. If their situations were reversed, she wasn’t sure she would’ve been so forgiving. But her brother had stuck by her through all the turmoil.

Slowly she lowered her gaze, disturbed by that revelation. However, she didn’t have the time or the inclination to worry about it. If she ever needed a cool head and a cooler heart, it was now. Two years’ worth of innovative research was about to be lost because they’d allowed the fate of the company to hinge on the experiments and ideas of one man. Aleksandr Berinski was a brilliant Russian biochemist. Jerry had met him some years earlier while traveling in Europe and convinced Julia he was the answer to their problems. Her brother was right; Alek’s ideas would revolutionize the paint industry. Bringing him to the United States had been a bold move on their part, but she hadn’t been sorry. Not once.

Hiring Aleksandr Berinski from Russia and moving him to Seattle—it was the biggest risk Conrad Industries had ever taken. Now the fate of the company rested in the hands of a hard-nosed official.

Julia wondered again if she should’ve attended the hearing at the district office of Citizenship and Immigration. She’d done everything within her power to make sure Aleksandr’s visa would be extended. She’d written a letter explaining his importance to the company and included documentation to prove that Aleksandr Berinski was a man of distinct merit and exceptional ability.

Jerry, who was a very good corporate attorney, had spent weeks building their case. Professional certifications, affidavits, a copy of Aleksandr’s diploma and letters of reference filled Jerry’s briefcase.

Her brother had told her there could be problems. It was often difficult to renew an H-2 visa, the type Aleksandr had been granted when he’d entered the United States. The H-2 is one of temporary employment. He’d warned her that if it looked as though employment might become permanent, then Immigration and the Labor Department would be reluctant to extend the visa.

On top of all that, the case had been assigned to a particularly difficult bureaucrat. Jerry had warned her that the agent hearing their case might decide Alek had applied for the temporary visa knowing the job was really permanent and refuse to grant an extension on principle.

She checked her watch again and exhaled with impatience. Only a few minutes had passed. Annoyed with herself for the uncharacteristic display of anxiety, she sat down on her white leather chair. Everything was neatly arranged on the polished black desk. A small marble pen stand was next to the phone. The address and appointment books were perfectly aligned with everything else. Behind the desk stood her computer table, the company website pulled up, its logo prominent. Julia liked to keep her office and her world under control.

When her phone rang, the sound caught her off guard. She grabbed the receiver. “Jerry?”

“Sis,” Jerry’s voice greeted her. “I’m on my cell. I thought you’d want to know the decision as soon as possible.”

“Yes, please.”

“I’m afraid it didn’t go as well as we’d hoped. They’ve decided not to renew Alek’s visa.”

His words felt like a kick in the stomach. She closed her eyes and waited until the shock had passed. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known the likelihood of this verdict. The fact that Aleksandr had no proof of a permanent residence in Russia didn’t help. In the eyes of Immigration Services that was a red light indicating he didn’t intend to return. Furthermore, she and Jerry were dealing with a large, complex bureaucracy. In a fit of worry, Julia had tried to contact the agency herself, reason with them. She’d spent nearly an hour on the phone and hadn’t spoken to a single person. She was forced to listen to one recording after another. Press a number on the phone, listen, press another one, then another. She quickly became lost in a hopeless tangle of instructions and messages.

“When will he have to leave?”

“By the end of the week, when his current visa expires.”

“That soon?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Jerry, what are we going to do?”

“I’ll talk to you about it as soon as we get back to the office,” her brother said in reassuring tones. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a contingency plan.”

Nice of him to mention it now, Julia mused. He might’ve said something this morning and saved her all this grief.

Ten minutes later, her intercom buzzed; her assistant announced that Jerry was in her outer office. Julia asked Virginia to send him in and waited, standing by the window.

Jerry entered and Aleksandr Berinski followed. Although Aleksandr had been working for Conrad Industries for nearly two years, she’d only talked to him a handful of times. Even those conversations had been brief. But she’d read his weekly reports and been excited by the progress he was making. If he was allowed to continue, Julia didn’t doubt that his innovations would put Conrad Industries back on a firm financial footing.

Julia and Jerry, but primarily Julia, had taken on the impossible task of resurrecting the family business, literally from the ashes. Three years before, the plant and adjacent warehouse had been severely damaged by fire; fortunately, it hadn’t spread to the lab and the offices. Because of the rebuilding they’d had to do, she’d decided the line of paints Aleksandr was developing would be called Phoenix.

To be so close to success and lose it all now was more than she could bear. For three long, frustrating years, she’d hung on to the business by wheeling and dealing, making trades and promises.

Being aggressive and hardworking had come naturally to her. Jerry possessed the same determination and had been a constant help. If she was cold and sometimes ruthless, she credited it to Roger Stanhope. She’d needed to be, but Julia didn’t have any more tricks up her sleeve once Aleksandr returned to Russia.

She feared that losing the business would be a fatal blow to her grandmother. No one knew better than Julia how fragile Ruth’s health had become these past few months.

“You said you have a contingency plan.” She spoke crisply, the sound of her steps muffled by the thick wheat-colored carpet as she stalked back to her desk. She leaned forward and averted her gaze from Aleksandr’s.

The man disturbed her in ways she didn’t understand. He was tall and lanky with impeccable manners. His face wasn’t handsome the way Roger’s had been, but rawboned and lean. His eyes were dark, the brows arched slightly, and in him she read strength and character. Unwillingly she found her own eyes drawn to his, and the shadow of a smile crept across Aleksandr’s face. She focused her attention on Jerry.

“There is one way,” her brother said, with obvious reluctance.

“This isn’t the time to play guessing games. Tell me what you’re thinking,” she snapped, hardly believing he could be holding something back. Jerry knew as well as she did what kind of predicament the company was in.

Her brother set down his briefcase and motioned toward the leather chair. “Perhaps you should take a seat.”

“Me?” She noted that his voice was strained, which surprised her almost as much as his request.

“You, too, Alek,” Jerry advised as he moved to the opposite end of her office.

Julia turned toward him and tried to read his features in the gloom of late afternoon. The storm had darkened the sky, stationing shadows around the room until it resembled a dungeon, Julia thought.

“Whatever you have to say, please say it, Jerry. You’ve never worried about phrasing before.”

Jerry’s eyes traveled from Julia to Aleksandr, and she saw that his cheeks were flushed. He sighed. “There’s only one legal way I know to keep Aleksandr in the country.” Slowly he leveled his gaze on Julia. “You could marry him.”

“I was hoping you’d stop by and see me.” Julia’s grandmother, Ruth Conrad, spoke softly, stretching out one hand. She was sitting up in bed, her thin white hair arranged in a chignon of sorts. Ruth was pale, her skin a silky shade of alabaster, her eyes sunken now with age, revealing only a hint of the depth and beauty that had been hers in years past. She was frail and growing more so daily.

The cool facade Julia wore in her role with Conrad Industries quickly melted whenever she saw her grandmother. She sank gratefully into the chair next to the brass four-poster bed and slipped off her shoes, tucking her feet beneath her.

Visiting Ruth at the family home was an escape for her. She left her worries and troubles outside. Her world was often filled with chaos, but with Ruth she found calm; the day’s tension was replaced by peace and solace.

The storm outside seemed far removed from this bedroom haven.

“The thunder woke me,” Ruth said in a low voice, smiling weakly. “I lay back and I could hear huge kettledrums in the sky. Oh, how they rumbled. Then I had Charles open the drapes so I could look outside. The clouds billowed past like giant puffs of smoke. It was a marvelous show.”

Julia took her grandmother’s hand and released a slow, uneven breath. She glanced around the room, studying the treasures Ruth had chosen to keep nearby. A row of silver-framed pictures rested on the nightstand, next to several prescription bottles. There was one of her son—Julia’s father—another of the family together, plus Ruth’s own wedding portrait and a candid photo of her beloved husband, Louis. A chintz-covered Victorian chair sat in front of the fireplace, a wool afghan draped over the back for when Ruth felt well enough to venture from the bed. The round table beside the chair was covered with a dark velvet cloth. Julia’s picture, one taken shortly after she’d graduated from college, was propped up beside the lamp. Julia looked away, unable to bear the naivete and innocence she saw in that younger version of herself.

“I’m so pleased you stopped by,” Ruth said again.

Julia came almost every day, knowing the time left with her grandmother was shrinking. Neither spoke of her death, although it was imminent. Julia was determined to do whatever she could to make these last days as comfortable and happy for her as possible. That was what kept Julia going day after day. She spent hours talking to her grandmother, telling her about Alek’s ideas, the innovations he was currently working on, her own hopes for the company. They discussed the future and how the entire industry was about to change because of Alek’s vision. Her grandmother had been as impressed with Alek as Julia was. Ruth had wanted to meet him, and Julia had asked Jerry to bring Alek over. From what she heard later, the two had been quite charmed by each other.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Ruth whispered.

She sounded so weak. “Rest,” Julia said urgently. “We’ll talk later.”

Ruth responded with a fragile smile. “I don’t have much longer, Julia. A few weeks at the most….”

“Nonsense.” The truth was too painful to face, yet much too persistent to ignore. “You’re just tired, that’s all. It’ll pass.”

Ruth’s eyes drifted shut, but determination opened them a moment later. “We need to talk about Roger,” her grandmother said insistently.

A muscle in Julia’s neck tensed, and a cold shiver went down her backbone. “Not…now. Some other time. Later.”

“Might not…have later. Best to do it now.”

“Grandma, please…”

“He betrayed you, child, and you’ve held on to that grief all these years. Your pain is killing you just as surely as this heart of mine is draining away my life.”

“I don’t even think of him anymore.” Julia tried to reassure her, although it was a lie. She struggled to push every thought of Roger from her mind, but that wouldn’t happen until she’d completely rebuilt what he’d destroyed.

“Regret and anger are poisoning you like…like venom…. I’ve watched it happen and been too weak… to help you the way I wanted.”

“Grandma, please, Roger is out of my life. I haven’t seen him in over a year. What’s the point of talking about him now?”

“He’s gone…but you haven’t forgotten him. He failed you.”

Julia clenched her teeth. That was one way of putting it. Roger had failed her. He’d also betrayed, tricked and abandoned her. When she thought of how much she’d loved him, how much she’d trusted him, it made her physically ill. Never again would she allow a man into her heart. Never again would she give a man the power to manipulate her.

“The time’s come to forgive him.”

Julia closed her eyes and shook her head. Her grandmother was asking the impossible. A woman didn’t forgive the things Roger had don Read more

An Engagement in Seattle

Julia Conrad wasn’t a patient woman at the best of times. She paced her office, repeatedly circling her high-gloss black-lacquer-and-brass desk. She felt so helpless. She should’ve gone to Citizenship and Immigration Services with Jerry rather than wait for their decision.

Rubbing her palms together, she retracted the thought. She was a wreck and the Immigration people would have instantly picked up on that and it could hurt their case. She couldn’t help being anxious. The future of the company rested on the outcome of today’s hearing. Ultimately she was the one responsible for the welfare of Conrad Industries, the business her grandfather had started thirty years earlier.

In an effort to calm herself she stared out the window. The weather seemed to echo her mood. There was a ceiling of black clouds, thunder roared and a flash of lightning briefly brightened the room. The lights flickered.

Julia’s reflection was mirrored in the window and she frowned, mesmerized by the unexpected sight of herself.

Her dark hair was swept back from her face and secured with a gold clasp. She wore a dark suit with a pale gray blouse, which—in her view, anyway—conveyed tasteful refinement. She looked cool, calm and collected, but inside she was a mass of tension and nerves. At thirty she had a pleasant face when she smiled, but she hadn’t been doing much of that lately. Not in the past three years. Her cheekbones were high, her jaw strong, but it was her eyes that told the story. Her eyes revealed vulnerability and pain.

The image of herself distressed Julia and she hurriedly glanced away. Sighing, she circled her desk once more, silently praying for patience. She was determined to get the company back on its feet, to overcome the odds they faced. Jerry, her brother, had worked with her, sacrificing his personal life the way she had hers. They’d met with a handful of small successes. And now this.

Both Julia and Jerry were determined to revive Conrad Industries. Julia owed her father that much. Jerry had shown such faith in her by volunteering his services. If their situations were reversed, she wasn’t sure she would’ve been so forgiving. But her brother had stuck by her through all the turmoil.

Slowly she lowered her gaze, disturbed by that revelation. However, she didn’t have the time or the inclination to worry about it. If she ever needed a cool head and a cooler heart, it was now. Two years’ worth of innovative research was about to be lost because they’d allowed the fate of the company to hinge on the experiments and ideas of one man. Aleksandr Berinski was a brilliant Russian biochemist. Jerry had met him some years earlier while traveling in Europe and convinced Julia he was the answer to their problems. Her brother was right; Alek’s ideas would revolutionize the paint industry. Bringing him to the United States had been a bold move on their part, but she hadn’t been sorry. Not once.

Hiring Aleksandr Berinski from Russia and moving him to Seattle—it was the biggest risk Conrad Industries had ever taken. Now the fate of the company rested in the hands of a hard-nosed official.

Julia wondered again if she should’ve attended the hearing at the district office of Citizenship and Immigration. She’d done everything within her power to make sure Aleksandr’s visa would be extended. She’d written a letter explaining his importance to the company and included documentation to prove that Aleksandr Berinski was a man of distinct merit and exceptional ability.

Jerry, who was a very good corporate attorney, had spent weeks building their case. Professional certifications, affidavits, a copy of Aleksandr’s diploma and letters of reference filled Jerry’s briefcase.

Her brother had told her there could be problems. It was often difficult to renew an H-2 visa, the type Aleksandr had been granted when he’d entered the United States. The H-2 is one of temporary employment. He’d warned her that if it looked as though employment might become permanent, then Immigration and the Labor Department would be reluctant to extend the visa.

On top of all that, the case had been assigned to a particularly difficult bureaucrat. Jerry had warned her that the agent hearing their case might decide Alek had applied for the temporary visa knowing the job was really permanent and refuse to grant an extension on principle.

She checked her watch again and exhaled with impatience. Only a few minutes had passed. Annoyed with herself for the uncharacteristic display of anxiety, she sat down on her white leather chair. Everything was neatly arranged on the polished black desk. A small marble pen stand was next to the phone. The address and appointment books were perfectly aligned with everything else. Behind the desk stood her computer table, the company website pulled up, its logo prominent. Julia liked to keep her office and her world under control.

When her phone rang, the sound caught her off guard. She grabbed the receiver. “Jerry?”

“Sis,” Jerry’s voice greeted her. “I’m on my cell. I thought you’d want to know the decision as soon as possible.”

“Yes, please.”

“I’m afraid it didn’t go as well as we’d hoped. They’ve decided not to renew Alek’s visa.”

His words felt like a kick in the stomach. She closed her eyes and waited until the shock had passed. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known the likelihood of this verdict. The fact that Aleksandr had no proof of a permanent residence in Russia didn’t help. In the eyes of Immigration Services that was a red light indicating he didn’t intend to return. Furthermore, she and Jerry were dealing with a large, complex bureaucracy. In a fit of worry, Julia had tried to contact the agency herself, reason with them. She’d spent nearly an hour on the phone and hadn’t spoken to a single person. She was forced to listen to one recording after another. Press a number on the phone, listen, press another one, then another. She quickly became lost in a hopeless tangle of instructions and messages.

“When will he have to leave?”

“By the end of the week, when his current visa expires.”

“That soon?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Jerry, what are we going to do?”

“I’ll talk to you about it as soon as we get back to the office,” her brother said in reassuring tones. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a contingency plan.”

Nice of him to mention it now, Julia mused. He might’ve said something this morning and saved her all this grief.

Ten minutes later, her intercom buzzed; her assistant announced that Jerry was in her outer office. Julia asked Virginia to send him in and waited, standing by the window.

Jerry entered and Aleksandr Berinski followed. Although Aleksandr had been working for Conrad Industries for nearly two years, she’d only talked to him a handful of times. Even those conversations had been brief. But she’d read his weekly reports and been excited by the progress he was making. If he was allowed to continue, Julia didn’t doubt that his innovations would put Conrad Industries back on a firm financial footing.

Julia and Jerry, but primarily Julia, had taken on the impossible task of resurrecting the family business, literally from the ashes. Three years before, the plant and adjacent warehouse had been severely damaged by fire; fortunately, it hadn’t spread to the lab and the offices. Because of the rebuilding they’d had to do, she’d decided the line of paints Aleksandr was developing would be called Phoenix.

To be so close to success and lose it all now was more than she could bear. For three long, frustrating years, she’d hung on to the business by wheeling and dealing, making trades and promises.

Being aggressive and hardworking had come naturally to her. Jerry possessed the same determination and had been a constant help. If she was cold and sometimes ruthless, she credited it to Roger Stanhope. She’d needed to be, but Julia didn’t have any more tricks up her sleeve once Aleksandr returned to Russia.

She feared that losing the business would be a fatal blow to her grandmother. No one knew better than Julia how fragile Ruth’s health had become these past few months.

“You said you have a contingency plan.” She spoke crisply, the sound of her steps muffled by the thick wheat-colored carpet as she stalked back to her desk. She leaned forward and averted her gaze from Aleksandr’s.

The man disturbed her in ways she didn’t understand. He was tall and lanky with impeccable manners. His face wasn’t handsome the way Roger’s had been, but rawboned and lean. His eyes were dark, the brows arched slightly, and in him she read strength and character. Unwillingly she found her own eyes drawn to his, and the shadow of a smile crept across Aleksandr’s face. She focused her attention on Jerry.

“There is one way,” her brother said, with obvious reluctance.

“This isn’t the time to play guessing games. Tell me what you’re thinking,” she snapped, hardly believing he could be holding something back. Jerry knew as well as she did what kind of predicament the company was in.

Her brother set down his briefcase and motioned toward the leather chair. “Perhaps you should take a seat.”

“Me?” She noted that his voice was strained, which surprised her almost as much as his request.

“You, too, Alek,” Jerry advised as he moved to the opposite end of her office.

Julia turned toward him and tried to read his features in the gloom of late afternoon. The storm had darkened the sky, stationing shadows around the room until it resembled a dungeon, Julia thought.

“Whatever you have to say, please say it, Jerry. You’ve never worried about phrasing before.”

Jerry’s eyes traveled from Julia to Aleksandr, and she saw that his cheeks were flushed. He sighed. “There’s only one legal way I know to keep Aleksandr in the country.” Slowly he leveled his gaze on Julia. “You could marry him.”

“I was hoping you’d stop by and see me.” Julia’s grandmother, Ruth Conrad, spoke softly, stretching out one hand. She was sitting up in bed, her thin white hair arranged in a chignon of sorts. Ruth was pale, her skin a silky shade of alabaster, her eyes sunken now with age, revealing only a hint of the depth and beauty that had been hers in years past. She was frail and growing more so daily.

The cool facade Julia wore in her role with Conrad Industries quickly melted whenever she saw her grandmother. She sank gratefully into the chair next to the brass four-poster bed and slipped off her shoes, tucking her feet beneath her.

Visiting Ruth at the family home was an escape for her. She left her worries and troubles outside. Her world was often filled with chaos, but with Ruth she found calm; the day’s tension was replaced by peace and solace.

The storm outside seemed far removed from this bedroom haven.

“The thunder woke me,” Ruth said in a low voice, smiling weakly. “I lay back and I could hear huge kettledrums in the sky. Oh, how they rumbled. Then I had Charles open the drapes so I could look outside. The clouds billowed past like giant puffs of smoke. It was a marvelous show.”

Julia took her grandmother’s hand and released a slow, uneven breath. She glanced around the room, studying the treasures Ruth had chosen to keep nearby. A row of silver-framed pictures rested on the nightstand, next to several prescription bottles. There was one of her son—Julia’s father—another of the family together, plus Ruth’s own wedding portrait and a candid photo of her beloved husband, Louis. A chintz-covered Victorian chair sat in front of the fireplace, a wool afghan draped over the back for when Ruth felt well enough to venture from the bed. The round table beside the chair was covered with a dark velvet cloth. Julia’s picture, one taken shortly after she’d graduated from college, was propped up beside the lamp. Julia looked away, unable to bear the naivete and innocence she saw in that younger version of herself.

“I’m so pleased you stopped by,” Ruth said again.

Julia came almost every day, knowing the time left with her grandmother was shrinking. Neither spoke of her death, although it was imminent. Julia was determined to do whatever she could to make these last days as comfortable and happy for her as possible. That was what kept Julia going day after day. She spent hours talking to her grandmother, telling her about Alek’s ideas, the innovations he was currently working on, her own hopes for the company. They discussed the future and how the entire industry was about to change because of Alek’s vision. Her grandmother had been as impressed with Alek as Julia was. Ruth had wanted to meet him, and Julia had asked Jerry to bring Alek over. From what she heard later, the two had been quite charmed by each other.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Ruth whispered.

She sounded so weak. “Rest,” Julia said urgently. “We’ll talk later.”

Ruth responded with a fragile smile. “I don’t have much longer, Julia. A few weeks at the most….”

“Nonsense.” The truth was too painful to face, yet much too persistent to ignore. “You’re just tired, that’s all. It’ll pass.”

Ruth’s eyes drifted shut, but determination opened them a moment later. “We need to talk about Roger,” her grandmother said insistently.

A muscle in Julia’s neck tensed, and a cold shiver went down her backbone. “Not…now. Some other time. Later.”

“Might not…have later. Best to do it now.”

“Grandma, please…”

“He betrayed you, child, and you’ve held on to that grief all these years. Your pain is killing you just as surely as this heart of mine is draining away my life.”

“I don’t even think of him anymore.” Julia tried to reassure her, although it was a lie. She struggled to push every thought of Roger from her mind, but that wouldn’t happen until she’d completely rebuilt what he’d destroyed.

“Regret and anger are poisoning you like…like venom…. I’ve watched it happen and been too weak… to help you the way I wanted.”

“Grandma, please, Roger is out of my life. I haven’t seen him in over a year. What’s the point of talking about him now?”

“He’s gone…but you haven’t forgotten him. He failed you.”

Julia clenched her teeth. That was one way of putting it. Roger had failed her. He’d also betrayed, tricked and abandoned her. When she thought of how much she’d loved him, how much she’d trusted him, it made her physically ill. Never again would she allow a man into her heart. Never again would she give a man the power to manipulate her.

“The time’s come to forgive him.”

Julia closed her eyes and shook her head. Her grandmother was asking the impossible. A woman didn’t forgive the things Roger had don Read more

Navy Families

On her knees on the bathroom floor, Hannah Raymond viewed parts of the toilet that were never meant to be seen at such short range. Her stomach rolled and heaved like a tiny canoe being swept down a raging river. The tile felt icy against her knees, yet beads of perspiration moistened her brow. Closing her eyes in an effort to hold back the waves of nausea, Hannah drew in several deep, even breaths. That seemed to help a little, but not enough.
“Oh, God,” she prayed silently, “please, oh, please, don’t let me be pregnant.” No sooner had the words crossed her lips when she lost what little breakfast she’d managed to down that morning.

Her monthly period was late. Over two months late. But that could be attributed to the stress she’d been under these past several weeks. The stress and the grief. It had been nearly four months since Jerry’s death. She ached to the bottom of her soul for him, and would, she was convinced, until the end of her life. She’d loved Jerry for six years, had planned her entire life around him. They were to have married soon after the first of the year.

Now there would be no wedding because there was no Jerry. Grief caught her once more in a stranglehold of pain and she squeezed her eyes closed, battling the tears, as well as the nausea. Adding to her torment was the knowledge that if she was pregnant, the child she carried wouldn’t be Jerry’s.

The face of the sailor had imprinted itself onto her mind, bold as could be. He was tall, powerfully built and strong featured. With a sense of dismay she pushed his image away, refusing to think about that July night or dwell on her folly.

Once again her stomach heaved, and Hannah brushed the thick folds of shiny brown hair away from her face and leaned over the porcelain toilet.

“Hannah?” Her father knocked politely against the bathroom door. “Honey, you’d best hurry or you’ll be late for Sunday school.”

“I … I’m not feeling very well this morning, Dad.” Her words were immediately followed by another bout of vomiting.

“It sounds like you’ve got the flu.”

Bless his heart for offering her an excuse. “Yes, I think I must.” She prayed with everything in her being that this was some intestinal virus. If living a good life, following the Golden Rule and being the best preacher’s kid she knew how to be were ever to work on her behalf, the time was now.

“Go back to bed and if you feel up to it later, come over for the service. I’m preaching from the Epistle to the Romans this morning and I’d like your opinion.”

“Sure, Dad.” But from the way she was feeling now, she wouldn’t be out of bed any time within the next week.

“You’ll be all right here by yourself?” Her father’s voice echoed with concern.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” Once again she felt her stomach pitch. She gripped the sides of the toilet and her head fell forward, the effort of holding it up too much for her.

Her father hesitated. “You’re sure?”

“I’ll be all right in a little bit,” she managed in a reed-thin voice.

“If you need me,” George Raymond insisted, “just call the church.”

“Dad, please, don’t worry about me. I’ll be much better soon. I’m sure of it.”

Her father’s retreating footsteps echoed in the hallway, and Hannah sighed with relief. She didn’t know what she was going to do if she was pregnant. Briefly she toyed with the idea of disappearing until after the baby was born. Going into hiding was preferable to facing her father with the truth.

George Raymond had dedicated his life to serving God and others, and having to confess what she’d done didn’t bear contemplating. Hannah loved her father deeply, and the thought of disgracing him, the thought of hurting him, brought a pain so strong and so sharp that tears instantly pooled in her eyes.

“Please God,” she prayed once more, “don’t let me be pregnant.” Slowly rising from the floor, she swayed and placed her hand against the wall as an attack of dizziness sent the room spinning.

She staggered into her bedroom and fell on top of the mattress. Kicking off her shoes, she sat up long enough to reach for the afghan neatly folded at the foot of the bed. Spreading it over her shivering shoulders, she gratefully closed her eyes.

Sleep came over her in swells as though the ocean tide had shifted, lapping warm, assuring waves over her distraught soul. She welcomed each one, eager for something, anything that would help her escape the reality of her situation.

It had happened in mid-July, only three short weeks after the tragic accident that had claimed her fiancé’s life. Her father had been out of town, officiating at a wedding in Yakima. He was staying over and wasn’t scheduled to arrive back in Seattle until late Saturday afternoon. Hannah had been invited, too, but she couldn’t have borne sitting through the happy event when her own life was filled with such anguish. How grateful she’d been that her father hadn’t asked her to travel with him, although she knew he would have welcomed her company.

Before he left, George Raymond had asked if she’d take a load of boxes to the Mission House in downtown Seattle. He’d done it, Hannah knew, in an effort to draw her out of the lethargy that had claimed her in the weeks following Jerry’s funeral.

She waited until late in the afternoon, putting off the errand as long as she could, then loaded up the back of her father’s old Ford station wagon without much enthusiasm.

Hannah had driven into the city, surprised by the heavy flow of traffic. It wasn’t until she’d found a parking spot in the alley in back of the Mission House that she remembered that Seafair, the Seattle summertime festival celebrating ethnic heritages and community, was being held that weekend. The whole town was festive. Enthusiasm and good cheer rang through the streets like bells from a church steeple. Several Navy ships were docked in Elliott Bay and the famed torchlight parade was scheduled for that evening. The city sidewalks and streets were crammed. Read more

Looking for a Hero

GROOM: Divorce attorney Nash Davenport had seen enough bad endings to know that marriage was a mistake. When he had asked Savannah Charles to marry him, it was out of mutual necessity–not love. BRIDE: Weddings were Savannah’s business and she Read more

Navy Grooms

He was the handsomest man in the bar, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
It was all Erin MacNamera could do to keep her own coffee-brown eyes trained away from him. He sat on the bar stool, his back to the multi-tiered display of ornamental liquor bottles. His elbows were braced against the polished mahogany counter, and he nonchalantly held a bottle of imported German beer in his hand.

Against her will, Erin’s gaze meandered back to him. He seemed to be waiting for her attention, and he smiled, his mouth lifting sensuously at the edges. Erin quickly looked away and tried to concentrate on what her friend was saying.

“… Steve and me.”

Erin hadn’t a clue as to what she’d missed. Aimee was in the habit of talking nonstop, especially when she was upset. The reason Erin and her co-worker were meeting was that Aimee wanted to discuss the problems she was having in her ten-year marriage.

Marriage was something Erin fully intended to avoid, at least for a good long while. She was focusing her energies on her career and on teaching a class titled Women in Transition two evenings a week at South Seattle Community College. With a master’s degree clutched in her hot little hand, and her ideals and enthusiasm high, Erin had applied to and been accepted by the King County Community Action Program as an employment counselor, working mainly with displaced women. Ninety percent of those she worked with were on public assistance.

Her dream was to give hope and support to those who had lost both. A friend to the friendless. An encourager to the disheartened. Erin’s real love, however, was the Women In Transition course. In the past few years she’d watched several women undergo the metamorphosis from lost and confused individuals to purpose-filled adults holding on tight to a second chance at life.

Erin knew better than to take the credit or the blame for the transformation she saw in these women’s lives. She was just part of the Ways and Means Committee.

Her father enjoyed teasing her, claiming his eldest daughter was destined to become the next Florence Nightingale and Mother Teresa all rolled into one tenacious, determined, confident female.

Casey MacNamera was only partially right. Erin certainly didn’t see herself as any crusader, fighting against the injustices of life.

Nor was Erin fooling herself about finances. She didn’t intend to become wealthy, at least not monetarily. Nobody went into social work for the money. The hours were long and the rewards sporadic, but when she saw people’s lives turned around for good she couldn’t help being uplifted.

Helping others through a time of painful transition was what Erin had been born to do. It had been her dream from early in her college career and had followed her through graduate school and her first job.

“Erin,” Aimee said, her voice dipping to a whisper, “there’s a man at the bar staring at us.”

Erin pretended not to have noticed. “Oh?”

Aimee stirred the swizzle stick in her strawberry daiquiri, then licked the end as she stared across the room, her eyes studying the good-looking man with the imported ale. Her smile was slow and deliberate, but it didn’t last long. She sighed and said, “It’s you who interests him.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’m married.”

“He doesn’t know that,” Erin argued.

“Sure he does.” Aimee uncrossed her long legs and leaned across the minuscule table. “Married women give off vibes, and single men pick them up like sonar. I tried to send him a signal, but it didn’t work. He knew immediately. You, on the other hand, are giving off single vibes, and he’s zeroing in on that like a bee does pollen.”

“I’m sure you’re wrong.”

“Maybe,” Aimee agreed in a thin whisper, “but I doubt it.” She took one last sip of her drink and stood hurriedly. “I’m leaving now, and we’ll test my theory and see what happens. My guess is that the minute I’m out of here he’s going to make a beeline for you.” She paused, smiled at her own wit, then added, “The pun was an accident, clever but unintentional.”

“Aimee, I thought you wanted to talk….” Erin, however, wasn’t quick enough to convince her friend to stay. Before she’d finished, Aimee had reached for her purse. “We’ll talk some other time.” With a natural flair, she draped the strap of her imitation-snakeskin handbag over her shoulder and winked suggestively. “Good luck.”

“Ah …” Erin was at a loss as to what to do. She was twenty-seven, but for the majority of her adult life she’d avoided romantic relationships. Not by design. It had just worked out that way.

She met men frequently, but she dated only occasionally. Not once had she met a man in a bar. Cocktail lounges weren’t her scene. In her entire life she’d probably been inside one only a couple of times.

Her social life had been sadly neglected from the time she was in junior high and fell in love for the first time. Howie Riverside had asked her to the Valentine’s Day dance, and her tender young heart had been all aflutter.

Then it had happened. The way it always had. Her father, a career navy man, had been transferred, and they’d moved three days before the dance.

Somehow Erin had never quite regained her stride with the opposite sex. Of course, three moves in the next four years – unusual even for the navy – hadn’t been exactly conducive to a thriving relationship. They’d been shuffled from Alaska to Guam to Pensacola and back again.

College could have, and probably should have, been the opportunity to make up for lost time, but by then Erin had felt like a social pygmy when it came to dealing with men. She hadn’t known how to meet them, how to flirt with them or how to make small talk. Nor had she acquired a number of the other necessary graces.

(Continues…) Read more

Lone Star Baby

Wade McMillen might be a minister, but he’s also a man. An unmarried and very attractive one. Is it as a man that he responds to the lovely young woman who shows up in Promise, pregnant and alone? Or as Read more

Groom Wanted

Julia Conrad wasn’t a patient woman at the best of times. She paced her office, repeatedly circling her high-gloss black-lacquer-and-brass desk. She felt so helpless. She should’ve gone to Citizenship and Immigration Services with Jerry rather than wait for their decision.

Rubbing her palms together, she retracted the thought. She was a wreck and the Immigration people would have instantly picked up on that and it could hurt their case. She couldn’t help being anxious. The future of the company rested on the outcome of today’s hearing. Ultimately she was the one responsible for the welfare of Conrad Industries, the business her grandfather had started thirty years earlier.

In an effort to calm herself she stared out the window. The weather seemed to echo her mood. There was a ceiling of black clouds, thunder roared and a flash of lightning briefly brightened the room. The lights flickered.

Julia’s reflection was mirrored in the window and she frowned, mesmerized by the unexpected sight of herself.

Her dark hair was swept back from her face and secured with a gold clasp. She wore a dark suit with a pale gray blouse, which—in her view, anyway—conveyed tasteful refinement. She looked cool, calm and collected, but inside she was a mass of tension and nerves. At thirty she had a pleasant face when she smiled, but she hadn’t been doing much of that lately. Not in the past three years. Her cheekbones were high, her jaw strong, but it was her eyes that told the story. Her eyes revealed vulnerability and pain.

The image of herself distressed Julia and she hurriedly glanced away. Sighing, she circled her desk once more, silently praying for patience. She was determined to get the company back on its feet, to overcome the odds they faced. Jerry, her brother, had worked with her, sacrificing his personal life the way she had hers. They’d met with a handful of small successes. And now this.

Both Julia and Jerry were determined to revive Conrad Industries. Julia owed her father that much. Jerry had shown such faith in her by volunteering his services. If their situations were reversed, she wasn’t sure she would’ve been so forgiving. But her brother had stuck by her through all the turmoil.

Slowly she lowered her gaze, disturbed by that revelation. However, she didn’t have the time or the inclination to worry about it. If she ever needed a cool head and a cooler heart, it was now. Two years’ worth of innovative research was about to be lost because they’d allowed the fate of the company to hinge on the experiments and ideas of one man. Aleksandr Berinski was a brilliant Russian biochemist. Jerry had met him some years earlier while traveling in Europe and convinced Julia he was the answer to their problems. Her brother was right; Alek’s ideas would revolutionize the paint industry. Bringing him to the United States had been a bold move on their part, but she hadn’t been sorry. Not once.

Hiring Aleksandr Berinski from Russia and moving him to Seattle—it was the biggest risk Conrad Industries had ever taken. Now the fate of the company rested in the hands of a hard-nosed official.

Julia wondered again if she should’ve attended the hearing at the district office of Citizenship and Immigration. She’d done everything within her power to make sure Aleksandr’s visa would be extended. She’d written a letter explaining his importance to the company and included documentation to prove that Aleksandr Berinski was a man of distinct merit and exceptional ability.

Jerry, who was a very good corporate attorney, had spent weeks building their case. Professional certifications, affidavits, a copy of Aleksandr’s diploma and letters of reference filled Jerry’s briefcase.

Her brother had told her there could be problems. It was often difficult to renew an H-2 visa, the type Aleksandr had been granted when he’d entered the United States. The H-2 is one of temporary employment. He’d warned her that if it looked as though employment might become permanent, then Immigration and the Labor Department would be reluctant to extend the visa.

On top of all that, the case had been assigned to a particularly difficult bureaucrat. Jerry had warned her that the agent hearing their case might decide Alek had applied for the temporary visa knowing the job was really permanent and refuse to grant an extension on principle.

She checked her watch again and exhaled with impatience. Only a few minutes had passed. Annoyed with herself for the uncharacteristic display of anxiety, she sat down on her white leather chair. Everything was neatly arranged on the polished black desk. A small marble pen stand was next to the phone. The address and appointment books were perfectly aligned with everything else. Behind the desk stood her computer table, the company website pulled up, its logo prominent. Julia liked to keep her office and her world under control.

When her phone rang, the sound caught her off guard. She grabbed the receiver. “Jerry?”

“Sis,” Jerry’s voice greeted her. “I’m on my cell. I thought you’d want to know the decision as soon as possible.”

“Yes, please.”

“I’m afraid it didn’t go as well as we’d hoped. They’ve decided not to renew Alek’s visa.”

His words felt like a kick in the stomach. She closed her eyes and waited until the shock had passed. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known the likelihood of this verdict. The fact that Aleksandr had no proof of a permanent residence in Russia didn’t help. In the eyes of Immigration Services that was a red light indicating he didn’t intend to return. Furthermore, she and Jerry were dealing with a large, complex bureaucracy. In a fit of worry, Julia had tried to contact the agency herself, reason with them. She’d spent nearly an hour on the phone and hadn’t spoken to a single person. She was forced to listen to one recording after another. Press a number on the phone, listen, press another one, then another. She quickly became lost in a hopeless tangle of instructions and messages.

“When will he have to leave?”

“By the end of the week, when his current visa expires.”

“That soon?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Jerry, what are we going to do?”

“I’ll talk to you about it as soon as we get back to the office,” her brother said in reassuring tones. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a contingency plan.”

Nice of him to mention it now, Julia mused. He might’ve said something this morning and saved her all this grief.

Ten minutes later, her intercom buzzed; her assistant announced that Jerry was in her outer office. Julia asked Virginia to send him in and waited, standing by the window.

Jerry entered and Aleksandr Berinski followed. Although Aleksandr had been working for Conrad Industries for nearly two years, she’d only talked to him a handful of times. Even those conversations had been brief. But she’d read his weekly reports and been excited by the progress he was making. If he was allowed to continue, Julia didn’t doubt that his innovations would put Conrad Industries back on a firm financial footing.

Julia and Jerry, but primarily Julia, had taken on the impossible task of resurrecting the family business, literally from the ashes. Three years before, the plant and adjacent warehouse had been severely damaged by fire; fortunately, it hadn’t spread to the lab and the offices. Because of the rebuilding they’d had to do, she’d decided the line of paints Aleksandr was developing would be called Phoenix.

To be so close to success and lose it all now was more than she could bear. For three long, frustrating years, she’d hung on to the business by wheeling and dealing, making trades and promises.

Being aggressive and hardworking had come naturally to her. Jerry possessed the same determination and had been a constant help. If she was cold and sometimes ruthless, she credited it to Roger Stanhope. She’d needed to be, but Julia didn’t have any more tricks up her sleeve once Aleksandr returned to Russia.

She feared that losing the business would be a fatal blow to her grandmother. No one knew better than Julia how fragile Ruth’s health had become these past few months.

“You said you have a contingency plan.” She spoke crisply, the sound of her steps muffled by the thick wheat-colored carpet as she stalked back to her desk. She leaned forward and averted her gaze from Aleksandr’s.

The man disturbed her in ways she didn’t understand. He was tall and lanky with impeccable manners. His face wasn’t handsome the way Roger’s had been, but rawboned and lean. His eyes were dark, the brows arched slightly, and in him she read strength and character. Unwillingly she found her own eyes drawn to his, and the shadow of a smile crept across Aleksandr’s face. She focused her attention on Jerry.

“There is one way,” her brother said, with obvious reluctance.

“This isn’t the time to play guessing games. Tell me what you’re thinking,” she snapped, hardly believing he could be holding something back. Jerry knew as well as she did what kind of predicament the company was in.

Her brother set down his briefcase and motioned toward the leather chair. “Perhaps you should take a seat.”

“Me?” She noted that his voice was strained, which surprised her almost as much as his request.

“You, too, Alek,” Jerry advised as he moved to the opposite end of her office.

Julia turned toward him and tried to read his features in the gloom of late afternoon. The storm had darkened the sky, stationing shadows around the room until it resembled a dungeon, Julia thought.

“Whatever you have to say, please say it, Jerry. You’ve never worried about phrasing before.”

Jerry’s eyes traveled from Julia to Aleksandr, and she saw that his cheeks were flushed. He sighed. “There’s only one legal way I know to keep Aleksandr in the country.” Slowly he leveled his gaze on Julia. “You could marry him.”

“I was hoping you’d stop by and see me.” Julia’s grandmother, Ruth Conrad, spoke softly, stretching out one hand. She was sitting up in bed, her thin white hair arranged in a chignon of sorts. Ruth was pale, her skin a silky shade of alabaster, her eyes sunken now with age, revealing only a hint of the depth and beauty that had been hers in years past. She was frail and growing more so daily.

The cool facade Julia wore in her role with Conrad Industries quickly melted whenever she saw her grandmother. She sank gratefully into the chair next to the brass four-poster bed and slipped off her shoes, tucking her feet beneath her.

Visiting Ruth at the family home was an escape for her. She left her worries and troubles outside. Her world was often filled with chaos, but with Ruth she found calm; the day’s tension was replaced by peace and solace.

The storm outside seemed far removed from this bedroom haven.

“The thunder woke me,” Ruth said in a low voice, smiling weakly. “I lay back and I could hear huge kettledrums in the sky. Oh, how they rumbled. Then I had Charles open the drapes so I could look outside. The clouds billowed past like giant puffs of smoke. It was a marvelous show.”

Julia took her grandmother’s hand and released a slow, uneven breath. She glanced around the room, studying the treasures Ruth had chosen to keep nearby. A row of silver-framed pictures rested on the nightstand, next to several prescription bottles. There was one of her son—Julia’s father—another of the family together, plus Ruth’s own wedding portrait and a candid photo of her beloved husband, Louis. A chintz-covered Victorian chair sat in front of the fireplace, a wool afghan draped over the back for when Ruth felt well enough to venture from the bed. The round table beside the chair was covered with a dark velvet cloth. Julia’s picture, one taken shortly after she’d graduated from college, was propped up beside the lamp. Julia looked away, unable to bear the naivete and innocence she saw in that younger version of herself.

“I’m so pleased you stopped by,” Ruth said again.

Julia came almost every day, knowing the time left with her grandmother was shrinking. Neither spoke of her death, although it was imminent. Julia was determined to do whatever she could to make these last days as comfortable and happy for her as possible. That was what kept Julia going day after day. She spent hours talking to her grandmother, telling her about Alek’s ideas, the innovations he was currently working on, her own hopes for the company. They discussed the future and how the entire industry was about to change because of Alek’s vision. Her grandmother had been as impressed with Alek as Julia was. Ruth had wanted to meet him, and Julia had asked Jerry to bring Alek over. From what she heard later, the two had been quite charmed by each other.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Ruth whispered.

She sounded so weak. “Rest,” Julia said urgently. “We’ll talk later.”

Ruth responded with a fragile smile. “I don’t have much longer, Julia. A few weeks at the most….”

“Nonsense.” The truth was too painful to face, yet much too persistent to ignore. “You’re just tired, that’s all. It’ll pass.”

Ruth’s eyes drifted shut, but determination opened them a moment later. “We need to talk about Roger,” her grandmother said insistently.

A muscle in Julia’s neck tensed, and a cold shiver went down her backbone. “Not…now. Some other time. Later.”

“Might not…have later. Best to do it now.”

“Grandma, please…”

“He betrayed you, child, and you’ve held on to that grief all these years. Your pain is killing you just as surely as this heart of mine is draining away my life.”

“I don’t even think of him anymore.” Julia tried to reassure her, although it was a lie. She struggled to push every thought of Roger from her mind, but that wouldn’t happen until she’d completely rebuilt what he’d destroyed.

“Regret and anger are poisoning you like…like venom…. I’ve watched it happen and been too weak… to help you the way I wanted.”

“Grandma, please, Roger is out of my life. I haven’t seen him in over a year. What’s the point of talking about him now?”

“He’s gone…but you haven’t forgotten him. He failed you.”

Julia clenched her teeth. That was one way of putting it. Roger had failed her. He’d also betrayed, tricked and abandoned her. When she thought of how much she’d loved him, how much she’d trusted him, it made her physically ill. Never again would she allow a man into her heart. Never again would she give a man the power to manipulate her.

“The time’s come to forgive him.”

Julia closed her eyes and shook her head. Her grandmother was asking the impossible. A woman didn’t forgive the things Roger had don Read more

Texas Home

Wade McMillen might be a minister, but he’s also a man. An unmarried and very attractive one. Is it as a man that he responds to the lovely young woman who shows up in Promise, pregnant and alone? Or as Read more

Stand-In Wife

Tragedy had shattered Paul Manning’s whole world–leaving him a widower with three small children. Reeling from shock and grief, he turned in desperation to the one person he knew he could count on–gentle, caring Leah Baker. Slowly, Leah eased his Read more

Texas Nights

Welcome back to Promise, Texas, a ranching community deep in the Hill Country. It’s a good place to live and raise a family—and a good place to visit. Yes, there’s a secret or two hidden beneath Promise’s everyday exterior, but Read more

Can’t Wait for Love

“Eternal rest grant upon her, oh, Lord….” Lorraine Dancy closed her eyes as the first shovelful of dirt hit her mother’s casket. The sound seemed to reverberate around her, magnified a hundred times, drowning out the words intoned by Father Darien. This was her mother— her mother—and Virginia Dancy deserved so much more than a cold blanket of Kentucky mud.

Lorraine had received word the evening of April first that her mother had been involved in a horrible freeway accident. In the beginning she’d thought it was some kind of cruel hoax, a distasteful practical joke, but the mud-splattered casket was real enough to rip her heart wide open.

Her chest tightened with the effort to hold back tears. A low mewling escaped her lips and her trembling increased as she listened to the priest’s words in the gray afternoon.

After a while, the friends who’d come to say their last farewells started to move away. Father Darien gently took hold of Lorraine’s hands and in sincere compassionate tones offered a few final words of comfort. Reaching deep within herself, Lorraine managed to thank him.

Still, she remained, standing by her mother’s grave.

“Sweetheart.” Gary Franklin, her fiancé, stepped closer and placed his arm around her waist. “It’s time to go home.”

She resisted and held her ground when Gary tried to steer her toward the waiting limo. She wasn’t ready to leave her mother. Not yet. Please, not yet. It made everything so final…to turn her back and walk away.

This shouldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real. But the reality of the moment was undeniable—the open grave, the nearby headstones, the muddy ground. Her fears assailed her from all sides, sending a chill down her spine. Lorraine wasn’t sure she could survive without her mother’s love and support. Virginia had been her touchstone. Her example. Her mother.

“Sweetheart, I know this is difficult, but you can’t stay here.” Gary again tried to urge her away from the grave.

“No,” she said, her voice stronger now. What made it all the more difficult, all the more painful, was the complete lack of warning. Lorraine had talked to her mother that very weekend. They were so close; it had been the two of them against the world for as long as Lorraine could remember. Not a day passed that they didn’t connect in some way—with a conversation, a visit, an email message. On Saturday they’d spent more than an hour on the phone discussing plans for the wedding.

Her mother had been delighted when Lorraine accepted Gary’s proposal. Virginia had always liked Gary and encouraged the relationship from the beginning. Gary and her mother had gotten along famously.

Just last weekend—just a few days ago—her mother had been alive. During their phone call Virginia had chatted endlessly about the kind of wedding she wanted for her only child. They’d discussed the wedding dress, the bridesmaids, the flowers, the invitations. Lorraine had never heard her mother sound more excited. In her enthusiasm, Virginia had even mentioned her own wedding all those years ago and the only man she’d ever loved. She rarely spoke of Lorraine’s father. That was the one thing she didn’t share with her daughter—at least not since Lorraine’s early teens. Those were private memories, and it was as though Virginia held them close to her heart. They’d sustained her through the long lonely years of widowhood.

Lorraine couldn’t remember her father, who’d died when she was three. Her mother had loved Thomas Dancy so completely she’d never entertained the thought of remarrying. No man, she’d once told Lorraine, could live up to the memory of the one she’d lost.

Her parents’ love story was possibly the most romantic Lorraine had ever heard. When she was small, her mother had often told her how wonderful Thomas had been. In later years, of course, she hardly ever talked about him, but Lorraine remembered those long-ago stories—of her father being a decorated war hero and how her parents had defied everyone by getting married. They were the adventure tales, the marvelous bedtime stories of her early childhood, and they’d made a deep and lasting impression on her. It was one of the reasons Lorraine had waited until she was twenty-eight before becoming engaged herself. For years she’d been searching for a man like her father, a man who was noble. Honest. Brave. A man of integrity and high ideals. No one seemed right until Gary Franklin came into her life.

“Lorraine, everyone’s gone.” Gary’s arm tightened around her waist.

“Not yet. Please.” She couldn’t leave her mother, not like this. Not in a cold wet grave when Virginia Dancy hadn’t even reached the age of fifty. The pain was more than Lorraine could bear. As the agony of the moment overwhelmed her, tears began to roll down her cheeks.

“Come on, honey, let me get you away from here,” Gary murmured in a compassionate voice.

Lorraine took a step in retreat. She didn’t want Gary. She didn’t want anyone except her mother. And her mother was in a grave. “Oh, Mom,” she cried, then broke into sobs, unable to stop herself.

Gary turned her in his arms and held her protectively against him. “Let it out, sweetheart. It’s okay. Go ahead and cry.”

Lorraine hid her face in his shoulder and wept as she hadn’t since that night the state patrolman had come to her with the tragic news. How long Gary let her weep, she didn’t know. Until her eyes stung and her nose ran and there were no more tears to shed.

“The house is going to fill up and you’ll need to be there,” Gary reminded her.

“Yes, we should go,” she agreed, and wiped her nose with the tissue he handed her, grateful that Virginia’s neighbor, Mrs. Henshaw, would be there to let everyone in. Lorraine was calmer now, more self-possessed. People would want to talk about her mother, and since Lorraine was the only one left in the family, she’d have to be in control of her emotions.

Together she and Gary started toward the parking lot. Away from her mother. Away from the only parent she’d ever known.

Lorraine’s one, small comfort was the knowledge that after twenty-five years apart, her parents were finally together again.

Lorraine couldn’t sleep, but then she hadn’t really expected to. She should be exhausted. She was exhausted; she’d barely slept in days. This past week had been the most emotionally draining of her life. But even now, after the funeral and the wake, she was too restless to collapse into sleep.

Gary seemed to think that spending the night at her mother’s house wasn’t the best idea. He was probably right. Her judgment, along with everything else, had been thrown off-kilter by her mother’s death.

The wake had been here, at Virginia’s place, since Lorraine’s apartment was much too small to host the event, and a restaurant seemed too impersonal. Parishioners from St. John’s Church where Virginia had faithfully attended Mass all these years, plus a large group of neighbors, coworkers and friends, had lingered to tell Lorraine how sorry they were. They, too, appeared to have difficulty accepting the suddenness of her mother’s death.

Virginia had been an active member of St. John’s and a devout Catholic. For twenty years she sang in the choir and worked tirelessly for her church “family.” As a stockbroker with a large national firm, she’d made a name for herself in the business world. Turnover at the firm was high, and Virginia had learned that office friendships were often fleeting. Nevertheless, the house had been crammed with people.

Contrary to what Lorraine had assumed, she wasn’t needed as hostess. Friends and neighbors arrived bearing casseroles, breads and salads, which soon covered the dining-room table. The extras spilled into the kitchen and lined the countertops.

Lorraine was grateful to everyone, especially Gary who’d been both helpful and kind. Yet throughout the wake, all Lorraine had wanted was to be alone, to grieve by herself without people pressing in on her. But that wasn’t possible. It took her a while to realize that the friends who’d come were in need of solace, too. So she’d thanked them for their condolences and done her best to take on the role of comforter. Before long, she’d found herself depleted of energy, and she’d sunk into her mother’s favorite chair. Sitting there helped her feel closer to the mother she’d loved so deeply. It eased the ache of loneliness that threatened to consume her in a room full of people.

An endless stream of sympathy and advice had come at her.

“Of course you’ll want to keep the house…”

Lorraine had nodded.

“Naturally you’ll be selling the house…”

Lorraine had nodded.

“Your mother was a fine woman.”

“We’re all going to miss her.”

“She’s in a happier place now…”

“.such a senseless tragedy.”

Lorraine had agreed with one and all.

By the time everyone had left, it was dark. Gary had helped her with the cleanup and urged her to return to her own apartment. Or to his. He didn’t seem to understand her need to stay here, but how could he? He’d never lost a parent.

“You should go on home,” she’d told him. “I’ll be fine.”

“Darling, you shouldn’t be alone. Not tonight.”

“It’s what I want,” she’d insisted, yearning for him to leave. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and one she didn’t fully comprehend. She loved Gary, planned to spend the rest of her life with him, but at that moment she’d wanted him out the door. She had to deal with her grief and pain in her own way.

“You need me,” Gary told her with loving concern.

“I do,” she said. “Just not right now.”

Disappointment registered in his deep brown eyes and he nodded with obvious reluctance. “You’ll phone if you change your mind?”

Lorraine had said she would.

He’d kissed her on the forehead in a sweet gesture of love and consolation. Shivering with the evening’s cold, Lorraine had stood out on the porch and watched him drive off.

She’d cleared away the dishes, then wandered aimlessly through the house, pausing in the entrance to each room. Tenderly she caressed the things that had once been her mother’s most prized possessions. She closed her eyes and pictured her mother and father together at last and the wonderful reunion they must be enjoying.

Lorraine was comforted by the knowledge that Virginia had been happy during the last weeks of her life. She’d been thrilled at the news of her daughter’s engagement, thrilled at the prospect of planning a large formal wedding. No sooner had Lorraine said yes to Gary’s proposal than Virginia had started making elaborate plans for the October wedding. She’d valued tradition and frowned on Lorraine’s having chosen a small emerald necklace in lieu of the usual engagement ring.

“You have your wish now, Mom,” she said aloud. The wedding ring on her left hand had belonged to her mother. The inside of the band was engraved with the words “I’ll love you always. Thomas.” The funeral director had given it to her that very day, just before he’d closed the casket. Lorraine had slipped it on and wouldn’t remove it until the time came for her own wedding. Her mother had worn this ring since the day Thomas Dancy placed it on her finger, and now Lorraine would wear it, too.

“What am I going to do without you, Mom?” Lorraine said into the stillness of the night, her eyes welling with tears. It surprised her that she had any left.

She mulled over everything she’d done that had been a disappointment to her mother. She’d dropped out of medical school after her second year and trained as a nurse-practitioner, instead. Virginia had said little, but Lorraine knew her mother regretted that decision. She liked to think she’d made up for it when she met Gary, who sold medical supplies to Group Wellness, where Lorraine worked.

The fact that she’d become a lapsed Catholic had distressed her mother, as well, but Lorraine had never identified with the church the way Virginia had. She attended a nondenominational Christian church, but her mother would have preferred she remain Catholic.

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” she whispered, knowing she’d let her mother down in countless other ways.

When she’d finished her emotional journey through the house, Lorraine had taken a hot shower and changed into a nightgown, one she’d bought Virginia the previous Christmas. After giving the matter some thought, she’d chosen to sleep in her mother’s room, rather than her own. When she was frightened as a child, she’d always climbed into her mother’s bed. Lorraine was frightened now, afraid of the future, afraid to be without Virginia, without family.

As she lay there sleepless, she gathered her memories around her, finding consolation in the happiness they’d experienced. Day-to-day life had been full of shared pleasures, like cooking elaborate meals together, watching the classic movies they both loved, exchanging favorite books. Virginia also worked for several church-sponsored charities, and Lorraine sometimes spent an evening helping her pack up boxes of food for needy families, or stuffing envelopes. Her mother had been a wonderful woman, and Lorraine was proud of her. She’d been devout in her faith, hardworking, kindhearted. Smart, but generous, too.

After an hour or so, Lorraine gave up even trying to sleep. She sat up and reached for the framed photograph of her parents, which rested on the nightstand. The picture showed Virginia as young and beautiful, wearing a full, ankle-length dress with a wreath of wildflowers on her head. Her long straight hair fell nearly to her waist. She held a small bouquet of wildflowers in one hand; with the other hand she clasped her husband’s. Her eyes had been bright with happiness as she smiled directly into the camera.

The Thomas Dancy in the picture was tall and bearded, and wore his hair tied in a ponytail. He gazed at his bride with an identical look of love and promise. Anyone who saw the photograph could tell that the two of them had been deeply in love.

As recently as last weekend, when they’d been discussing Lorraine’s wedding plans, she’d teased her mother about the photo, calling her parents “flower children.” Virginia had been good-natured about it and merely said, “That was a long time ago.”

Sadly this photograph was the only one Lorraine had of her parents together. Everything else had been destroyed in a fire when she was in grade school. Lorraine remembered the fire, not realizing until years later all that she’d lost. Her parents’ photographs and letters, her father’s medals.

Lorraine knew that Virginia O’Malley had met Thomas Dancy her freshman year in college and they’d quickly fallen in love. The war in Vietnam had separated them when her father volunteered for the army in 1970. He’d survived the war and come home a hero. It was a year later, during a routine physical, that something unusual had shown up in his blood work. That something had turned out to be leukemia. Within six months, Thomas was dead and Virginia was a young widow with a child. Read more

Midnight Sons Volume 2

The new schoolteacher wouldn’t last.

It didn’t take Mitch Harris more than five seconds to make that assessment. Bethany Ross didn’t belong in Alaska. She reminded him of a tropical bird with its brilliant plumage. Everything about her was vivid, from her animated expression to her sun-bleached hair, which fell to her shoulders in a frothy mass of blond. Even blonder curls framed her classic features. Her eyes were a deep, rich shade of chocolate.

She wore a bright turquoise jumpsuit with a wide yellow band that circled her trim waist. One of her skimpy multicolored sandals dangled from her foot as she sat on the arm of Abbey and Sawyer O’Halloran’s sofa, her legs elegantly crossed.

This get-together was in her honor. Abbey and Sawyer had invited the members of the school board to their home to meet the new teacher.

To Mitch’s surprise, she stood and approached him before he had a chance to introduce himself. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” Her smile was warm and natural. “I’m Bethany Ross.”

“Mitch Harris.” He didn’t elaborate. Details wouldn’t be necessary because Ms. Ross simply wouldn’t last beyond the first snowfall. “Welcome to Hard Luck,” he said almost as an afterthought.

“Thank you.”

“When did you get here?” he asked, trying to make conversation. He twisted the stem of his wineglass and watched the chardonnay swirl against the sides.

“I flew in this afternoon.”

He hadn’t realized she’d only just arrived. “You must be exhausted.”

“Not really,” she was quick to tell him. “I suppose I should be, considering that I left San Francisco early this morning. The fact is, I’ve been keyed up for days.”

Mitch suspected Hard Luck was a sorry disappointment to her. The town, population 150, was about as far from the easy California lifestyle as a person could get. Situated fifty miles north of the Arctic Circle, Hard Luck was a fascinating place with a strong and abiding sense of community. People here lived hard and worked harder. Besides Midnight Sons, the flight service owned and operated by the three O’Halloran brothers, there were a few small businesses, like Ben Hamilton’s café. Mitch himself was one of a handful of state employees. He worked for the Department of the Interior, monitoring visitors to Gate of the Arctic National Park. This was in addition to his job as the town’s public safety officer—PSO—which meant he was responsible for policing in Hard Luck. Trappers wandered into town now and then, as did the occasional pipeline worker. To those living on the edge of the world, Hard Luck was a thriving metropolis.

Lately the town had piqued the interest of the rest of the country, as well. But Bethany Ross had nothing to do with that. Thank heaven, although Mitch figured she’d stay about as long as some of the women the O’Halloran brothers had brought to town.

Until recently only a small number of women had lived here. Not many were willing to endure the hardship of being this far from civilization. So the O’Halloran’s had spearheaded a campaign to bring women to Hard Luck. Abbey was one of their notable successes, but there’d been a few equally notable failures. Like—who was it?—Allison somebody. The one who’d lasted less than twenty-four hours. And just last week, two women had arrived, only to return home on the next flight out. Bethany Ross had actually applied for the teaching job last spring, before all this nonsense.

Unexpectedly she smiled—a ravishing smile that seemed to say she’d read his thoughts. “I plan to fulfill my contract, Mr. Harris. I knew what I was letting myself in for when I agreed to teach in Alaska.”

Mitch felt the heat rise to his ears. “I didn’t realize my…feelings were so transparent.”

“I don’t blame you for doubting me. I don’t exactly blend in with the others, do I?”

He was tempted to smile himself. “Hard Luck isn’t what you expected, is it?”

“I’ll adjust.”

She said this with such confidence he began to wonder if he’d misjudged her.

“Frankly, I didn’t know what to expect. With Hard Luck in the news so often, the idea of moving here was beginning to worry me.”

Mitch didn’t bother to conceal his amusement. He’d read what some of the tabloids had written about the town and the men’s scheme to lure women north.

“My dad was against my coming,” Bethany continued. “It was all I could do to keep him from flying up here with me. He seems to think Hard Luck’s populated with nothing but love-starved bush pilots.” Read more

Dakota Skies

It was the screaming that woke him.

Jeb bolted upright in bed and forced himself to look around the darkened room, to recognize familiar details. Four years had passed since the accident. Four years in which his mind refused to release even one small detail of that fateful afternoon.

Leaning against his headboard, he dragged in deep gulps of air until the shaking subsided. Invariably with the dream came the pain, the pain in his leg. The remembered agony of that summer’s day.

His mind refused to forget and so did his body. As he waited for his hammering pulse to return to normal, pain shot through his badly scarred thigh, cramping his calf muscle. Instinctively cringing, he stiffened until the discomfort passed.

Then he started to laugh. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Jeb reached for his prosthesis and strapped it onto the stump of his left leg. This was the joke: The pain Jeb experienced, the charley horse that knotted and twisted his muscles, was in a leg that had been amputated four years earlier.

He’d cheated death that day, but death had gained its own revenge. The doctors had a phrase for it. They called it phantom pain, and assured him that eventually it would pass. It was all part of his emotional adjustment to the loss of a limb. Or so they said, over and over, only Jeb had given up listening a long time ago.

After he’d dressed, he made his way into the kitchen, eager to get some caffeine into his system and dispel the lingering effects of the dream. Then he remembered he was out of coffee.

It didn’t take a genius to realize that Sarah had purposely forgotten coffee when she’d delivered his supplies. This was his sister’s less-than-subtle effort to make him go into town. It wouldn’t work. He wasn’t going to let her manipulate him—even if it meant roasting barley and brewing that.

Jeb slammed out the back door and headed for the barn, his limp more pronounced with his anger. His last trip into Buffalo Valley had been at Christmas, almost ten months earlier. Sarah knew how he felt about people staring at him, whispering behind his back as if he wasn’t supposed to know what they were talking about. He’d lost his leg, not his hearing or his intelligence. Their pity was as unwelcome as their curiosity.

Jeb hadn’t been particularly sociable before the accident and was less so now. Sarah knew that, too. She was also aware that his least favorite person in Buffalo Valley was Marta Hansen, the grocer’s wife. The old biddy treated him like a charity case, a poor, pathetic cripple—as if it was her duty, now that his mother was gone, to smother him with sympathy. Her condescending manner offended him and hurt his already wounded pride.

Jeb knew he made people uncomfortable. His loss reminded other farmers of their own vulnerability. With few exceptions, namely Dennis, the men he’d once considered friends felt awkward and uneasy around him. Even more now that he’d given up farming and taken up raising bison. For the past three and a half years he’d maintained a herd of fifty breeding animals. He’d learned mostly by trial and error, but felt he’d made considerable progress.

Genesis, his gelding, walked to the corral fence and stretched his head over the rail to remind Jeb he hadn’t been fed yet.

“I haven’t had my coffee,” he told the quarter horse, as if the animal could commiserate with him. He hardly ever rode anymore, but kept the horse for company.

He fed the gelding, then returned to the kitchen.

Cursing his sister and her obstinate ways, he wrote a grocery list—if he was going into town he’d make it worth his while—and hurried toward his pickup. The October wind felt almost hot in his face. A few minutes later, he drove out of the yard, sparing a glance for the bison grazing stolidly on either side. He moved the herd on a pasture rotation system. Later in the day he’d separate the weanlings and feeders from the main herd.

Buffalo ranching. He’d made the right decision. They were hardy animals, requiring less care than cattle did. The demand for their meat was growing and often exceeded supply. Business was good. Currently his females were worth more as breeding stock than meat: just last week, Jeb had sold one of his cows for a healthy five thousand dollars.

To his surprise, he enjoyed the fifty-minute drive to Buffalo Valley, although he rarely ventured into town these days. Usually he preferred to drive with no real destination, enjoying the solitude and the changing seasons and the feel of the road.

When he pulled into town, he was immediately struck by the changes the last ten months had brought to Buffalo Valley. Knight’s Pharmacy was and always had been the brightest spot on Main Street. Hassie Knight had been around as long as he could remember and served the world’s best old-fashioned ice-cream sodas. He’d loved that place as a kid and had considered it a special treat when his mother took him there on Saturday afternoons.

Like Marta Hansen, Hassie Knight had been a friend of his mother’s; she was also the one woman he knew, other than Sarah, who didn’t make him feel like a cripple.

3 OF A KIND, the town’s only hotel, bar and grill, was down the street from the pharmacy, Jeb had briefly met Buffalo Bob a couple of years earlier. He never did understand why a leather-clad, tattooed biker with a ponytail would settle in Buffalo Valley, but it wasn’t up to him to question. Bob had lasted longer than Jeb had thought he would. People seemed to like him, or so Calla, Jeb’s niece, had informed him.

The Pizza Parlor was new, but now that he thought about it, he remembered Sarah telling him Calla had started working there part-time. Good thing—the kid needed an outlet. She was fifteen and full of attitude. Jeb suspected that Dennis and his sister would have been married by now if it wasn’t for Calla.

Sarah’s quilting store came into view next and despite his irritation with her, he couldn’t squelch his sense of pride. Her quilts were exquisite, crafted from muslin colored with various natural dyes that Sarah derived from plants, berries and lichen. She managed to make something complex and beautiful out of this hand-dyed muslin, combining traditional methods with her own designs. The store was a testament to her talent and skill. She took justifiable pride in her work, displaying quilts in the front window of what had once been a florist shop. The Spring Bouquet had been closed for at least fifteen years. Folks didn’t buy a luxury like hothouse flowers when it was hard enough just getting food on the table. Read more

Heart of Texas Volume 2

Clutching the mail in one hand, Grady Weston paced the narrow corridor inside the post office. He glanced distractedly at the row of mailboxes, gathering his courage before he approached Caroline Daniels, the postmistress.

His tongue felt as if it’d wrapped itself around his front teeth, and he was beginning to doubt he’d be able to utter a single sensible word. It shouldn’t be so damned difficult to let a woman know he found her attractive!

“Grady?” Caroline’s voice reached out to him.

He spun around, not seeing her. Great. Not only was he dreaming about her, now he was hearing her voice.

“Open your box,” she instructed.

He fumbled for the key and twisted open the small rectangular door, then peered in. Sure enough, Caroline was there. Not all of her, just her brown eyes, her pert little nose and lovely mouth.

If he’d possessed his brother’s gift for flattery, Grady would have said something clever. Made some flowery remark. Unfortunately all he managed was a gruff unfriendly sounding “Hello.”

“Hi.”

Caroline had beautiful eyes, dark and rich like freshly brewed coffee, which was about as poetic as Grady got. Large and limpid, they reminded him of a calf’s, but he figured that might not be something a woman wanted to hear, even if he considered it a compliment. This was the problem, Grady decided. He didn’t know how to talk to a woman. In fact, it’d been more than six years since he’d gone out on an actual date.

“Can I help you with anything?” she asked.

He wanted to invite her to lunch, and although that seemed a simple enough request, he couldn’t make himself ask her. Probably because their relationship so far hadn’t been too promising. Calling it a “relationship” wasn’t really accurate, since they’d barely exchanged a civil word and had never so much as held hands. Mostly they snapped at each other, disagreed and argued—if they were speaking at all. True, they’d danced once; it’d been nice, but only when he could stop worrying about stepping on her toes.

Who was he kidding? Holding Caroline in his arms had been more than nice, it had been wonderful. In the month since, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that one dance. Every night when he climbed into bed and closed his eyes, Caroline was there to greet him. He could still feel her softness against him, could almost smell the faint scent of her cologne. The dance had been ladies’ choice, and that was enough to let him believe—hope—she might actually hold some regard for him, too. Despite their disagreements, he’d been the one she’d chosen to ask.

“You had lunch yet?” Grady asked, his voice brusque. He didn’t mean to sound angry or unfriendly. The timbre of his voice and his abrupt way of speaking had caused him plenty of problems with Maggie, Caroline’s five-year-old daughter. He’d been trying to get in the kid’s good graces for months now, with only limited success. But he’d tried. He hoped Caroline and Maggie gave him credit for that.

Caroline’s mouth broke into a wide grin. “Lunch? Not yet, and I’m starved.”

Grady’s spirits lifted considerably. “Well, then, I was thinking, seeing as I haven’t eaten myself..” The words stumbled all over themselves in his eagerness to get them out. “You want to join me?”

“Sure, but let me get this straight. Is this an invitation, as in a date?”

“No.” His response was instinctive, given without thought. He’d been denying his feelings for her so long that his answer had come automatically. He feared, too, that she might misread his intentions. He was attracted to Caroline and he wanted to know her better, but beyond that—he wasn’t sure. Hell, what he knew about love and marriage wouldn’t fill a one-inch column of the Promise Gazette.

Some of the happiness faded from her smile. “Understood. Give me a few minutes and I’ll meet you out front.” She moved out of his range of vision.

Grady closed the box, but left his hand on the key. How could anyone with the skills to run a thriving cattle ranch in the Texas Hill Country be such a fool when it came to women?

He rapped on the post-office box hard enough to hurt his knuckles. “Caroline!” Then he realized he had to open the box. He did that, then stared through it and shouted for her a second time. “Caroline!”

Her face appeared, eyes snapping with impatience. “What’s the rush?” she demanded. “I said it’d take me a few minutes.”

The edges of the postbox cut into his forehead and chin and knocked his Stetson askew. “This is a date, all right?”

She stared back at him from the other side, and either she was overwhelmed by his offer to buy her lunch or surprised into speechlessness.

“All right?” he repeated. “This is a date.”

She continued to look at him. “I shouldn’t have asked,” she finally said.

“I’m glad you did.” And he was. He could think of no better way to set things straight. He hadn’t invited her to lunch because he needed someone to pass the time with; if that was what he’d wanted, he could have asked his sister, Savannah, or her husband or Cal Patterson—or any number of people. No, he’d asked Caroline because he wanted to be with her. For once he longed to talk to her without interference or advice from his matchmaking sister. It didn’t help to have Maggie there hiding her face in her mother’s lap every time he walked into the room, either. This afternoon it’d be just the two of them. Caroline and him.

Grady respectfully removed his hat when she joined him in the lobby.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Caroline said.

“I was in town, anyway.” He didn’t mention that he’d rearranged his entire day for this opportunity. It was hard enough admitting that to himself, let alone Caroline.

“Where would you like to eat?” he asked. The town had three good restaurants: the cafe in the bowling alley; the Chili Pepper, a Texas barbecue place; and a Mexican restaurant run by the Chavez family.

“How about Mexican Lindo?” Caroline suggested.

It was the one he would have chosen himself. “Great.”

Since the restaurant was on Fourth Avenue, only two blocks from the post office, they walked there, chatting as they went. Or rather, Caroline chatted and he responded with grunts and murmurs.

Grady had long ago realized he lacked the ability to make small talk. Unlike his younger brother, Richard, who could charm his way into—or out of—anything. Grady tried not to feel inadequate, but he was distinctly relieved when they got to the restaurant.

In a few minutes they were seated at a table, served water and a bowl of tortilla chips along with a dish of extra-hot salsa. He reached for a chip, scooped up as much salsa as it would hold and popped it in his mouth. He ate another and then another before he noticed that Caroline hadn’t touched a single chip.

He raised his eyes to hers and stopped chewing, his mouth full.

Caroline apparently read the question in his eyes. “I don’t eat corn chips,” she explained. “I fill up on them and then I don’t have room for anything else.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Oh.”

A moment of silence passed, and Grady wondered if her comment was a subtle hint that she was watching her weight. From what he understood, weight was a major preoccupation with women. Maybe she was waiting for him to tell her she shouldn’t worry about it; maybe he was supposed to say she looked great. She did. She was slender and well proportioned, and she wore her dark brown hair straight and loose, falling to her shoulders. In his opinion she looked about as perfect as a woman could get. Someday he’d tell her that, but not just yet. Besides, he didn’t want her to think he was only interested in her body, although it intrigued him plenty. He admired a great deal about her, especially the way she was raising Maggie on her own. She understood the meaning of the words responsibility and sacrifice, just like he did.

She was staring at him as if she expected a comment, and Grady realized he needed to say something. “You could be fat and I’d still have asked you to lunch.”

Her smooth brow crumpled in a puzzled frown.

“I meant that as a compliment,” he sputtered and decided then and there it was better to keep his trap shut. Thankfully the waitress came to take their order. Grady decided on chicken enchiladas; Caroline echoed his choice.

“This is really very nice,” she said and reached for the tall glass of iced tea.

“I wanted us to have some time alone,” he told her. “Any particular reason?”

Grady rested his spine against the back of his chair and boldly met her look. “I like you, Caroline.” He didn’t know any way to be other than direct. This had gotten him into difficulties over the years. Earlier that spring he’d taken a dislike to Laredo Smith and hadn’t been shy about letting his sister and everyone else know his feelings. But he’d been wrong in his assessment of the man’s character. Smith’s truck had broken down and Savannah had brought him home to the ranch. Over Grady’s objections she’d hired him herself, and before long they’d fallen in love. It came as a shock to watch his sane sensible sister give her heart to a perfect stranger. Still, Grady wasn’t proud of the way he’d behaved. By the time Laredo decided it’d be better for everyone concerned if he moved on, Grady had wanted him to stay. He’d gone so far as to offer the man a partnership in the ranch in an effort to change his mind. Not that it’d done any good. To Grady’s eternal gratitude, Laredo had experienced a change of heart and returned a couple of months later. Love had driven him away, but it had also brought him back.

Savannah and Laredo had married in short order and were now involved in designing plans for their own home, plus raising quarter horses. Savannah, with her husband’s active support, continued to grow the antique roses that were making her a name across the state.

In the weeks since becoming his brother-in-law, Laredo Smith had proved himself a damn good friend and Grady’s right-hand man.

“I like you, too,” Caroline said, but she lowered her gaze as she spoke, breaking eye contact. This seemed to be something of an admission for them both.

“You do?” Grady felt light-headed with joy. It was all he could do not to leap in the air and click his heels.

“We’ve known each other a lot of years.”

“I’ve known you most of my life,” he agreed, but as he said the words, he realized he didn’t really know Caroline. Not the way he wanted, not the way he hoped he would one day. It wasn’t just that he had no idea who’d fathered Maggie; apparently no one else in town did, either. He wondered what had attracted her to this man, why she hadn’t married him. Or why he’d left her to deal with the pregnancy and birth alone. It all remained a mystery. Another thing Grady didn’t understand about Caroline was the changes in her since her daughter’s birth. In time Grady believed she’d trust him enough to answer his questions, and he prayed he’d say and do the right thing when she did.

Their lunches arrived and they ate, stopping to chat now and then. The conversation didn’t pall, but again he had to credit Caroline with the skill to keep it going. Half an hour later, as he escorted her back to the post office, Grady was walking on air.

“I’ll give you a call tomorrow,” he said, watching her for some sign of encouragement. “If you want,” he added, needing her reassurance.

“Sure.”

Her response was neither encouraging nor discouraging.

“I’d like to talk to Maggie again, if she’ll let me.”

“You might try this afternoon, since she’s spending the day with Savannah.”

This was news to Grady, but he’d been busy that morning and had left the house early. He hadn’t spoken to Savannah other than a few words over breakfast, and even if he’d known Maggie was staying with his sister, he wouldn’t have had time to chat with the girl that morning.

“I’ll make a point of saying hello,” he said. His heart lifted when it suddenly struck him that he’d be seeing Caroline again later in the day, when she came to pick up Maggie.

They parted. Whistling, Grady sauntered across the asphalt parking lot toward his truck. He felt damn good. The afternoon had gone better than he’d hoped.

He was about to open the cab door when Max Jordan stopped him.

“Grady, have you got a moment?” The older man, owner of the local Western-wear store, quickened his pace.

“Howdy, Max.” Grady grinned from ear to ear and didn’t let the somber expression on Max’s face get him down. “What can I do for you?”

Max shuffled his feet a couple of times, looking uncomfortable. “You know I hate to mention this a second time, but Richard still hasn’t paid me for the clothes he bought three months ago.”

The happy excitement Grady had experienced only moments earlier died a quick death. “It was my understanding Richard mailed you a check.”

“He told me the same thing, but it’s been more than two weeks now and nothing’s come. I don’t feel I should have to wait any longer.”

“I don’t think you should, either. I’ll speak to him myself,” Grady promised.

“I hate to drag you into this,” Max muttered, and it was clear from his shaky voice how much the subject distressed him.

“Don’t worry about it, Max. I understand.”

The older man nodded and turned away. Grady climbed into his truck and clenched the steering wheel with both hands as the anger flooded through him. Leave it to his brother to lie and cheat and steal!

What infuriated Grady was that he had no one to blame but himself. He’d allowed Richard to continue living on the Yellow Rose. Allowed him to tarnish the family name. Allowed himself to believe, to hope, that the years away had changed his brother.

All his illusions had been shattered. They were destroyed like so much else Richard had touched. He’d done his damnedest to ruin Grady, and he’d come close. But Richard had succeeded in ruining his own life—his potential to be a different person, a worthwhile human being.

Charming and personable, a born leader, Richard could have accomplished great things. Instead, he’d used his charisma and personality to swindle others, never understanding that the person he’d cheated most had been himself.

Six years earlier Richard had forged Grady’s signature and absconded with the cash their parents had left—cash that would have paid the inheritance taxes on the ranch and covered the burial expenses. Grady and Savannah had found themselves penniless following the tragedy that had claimed their parents’ lives. It’d taken six long, backbreaking, frustration-filled years to crawl out of debt. Grady had sacrificed those years to hold on to the ranch while Richard had squandered the money. When it had run out, he’d returned home with his tail between his legs, looking for a place to stay until he received a severance check from his last job—or so he’d said.

Deep down Grady had wanted to believe in Richard. His sister had begged him to let their younger brother stay. But she didn’t need to beg very hard or very long for him to relent. Unfortunately it had become apparent that a liar and a cheat didn’t change overnight—or in six years. Grady’s brother was the same now as the day he’d stolen from his family.

Despite the air conditioner, the heat inside the truck cab sucked away Grady’s energy. It should have come as no surprise to discover that Richard had lied to him again. This time would be the last, Grady vowed. Oh, yes, this episode was the proverbial last straw. Read more

Dakota Nights

Margaret thought she was ready, as ready as any daughter could be to face her father’s death. She’d been at his side, his rough, callused hand between her own, when it happened. For hours she’d sat with him, watching the intermittent rise and fall of his chest, waiting, wondering if this breath would be his last, praying it wasn’t. Clinging to what little life was left in him.

Bernard Clemens had refused to die in a hospital and at his request, she’d brought him home. The hospice people had been wonderful, assisting Bernard in maintaining his dignity to the very end. Margaret had stayed with her father almost constantly the final week of his life.

She watched him draw his last shallow breath, watched him pass peacefully, silently, from one life to the next. Margaret wasn’t sure what she’d expected to feel, but certainly not this torrent of agony and grief. She’d known he was dying, known it for months, and she’d thought that knowledge would blunt the sharp rawness of her pain. It hadn’t. Her father was gone. She’d spent every day of her life with him, here on the Triple C, and now she was alone. In time, she realized, she’d be able to look back and see the blessing her father had been, but not yet. Not when her loss hurt as much as it did now.

She’d waited until she’d composed herself and then, dry-eyed, walked out of the large bedroom and awakened the sleeping family members, who’d gathered at the ranch. She’d announced that Bernard had died and his death had been peaceful. No tears were shed. That wasn’t how grief was expressed in the Clemens family.

Almost immediately, everyone had found a purpose and the house was filled with activity. More and more people arrived, and then, two days later, it was time for the funeral. Bernard Clemens’s three surviving brothers stood at the grave site with Margaret; they stayed long enough to greet folks and thank them for coming. Then they left, to return to their own families, their own lives.

The reception following the funeral was well attended. Nearly everyone in Buffalo Valley came to pay their respects. Hassie Knight, who owned Knight’s Pharmacy, took charge of organizing the event. She’d been a family friend for many years. At least a hundred people had gathered at the large ranch house, and there was more food than Margaret could eat in six weeks. She never had understood why people brought casseroles and desserts for a wake; the last thing she wanted to think about was eating.

“Margaret, I’m so sorry,” Sarah Urlacher told her, gently taking her hand and holding it. She was sincere, and her kindness touched Margaret’s heart. Sarah’s husband, Dennis, stood with her. His eyes revealed genuine compassion.

Margaret nodded, wishing she knew the couple better. It was her father who was well acquainted with the folks in Buffalo Valley. He’d been doing business there for years. Dennis delivered fuel to the ranch, so Margaret at least knew him, even if their relationship was just a casual one. Sarah owned and operated Buffalo Valley Quilts, a growing enterprise that seemed to be attracting interest all around the country. Margaret knew Sarah only by sight; they hadn’t shared more than a few perfunctory greetings.

She wanted to thank everyone for coming—she really did appreciate their expressions of sympathy and respect—and at the same time f ind a way to steer them out the door. Making conversation with people she hardly knew was beyond her. She was polite, cordial, but a tightness had gripped her chest, and it demanded every ounce of restraint she could muster not to rush to the barn, saddle Midnight and ride until she was too exhausted to go farther.

Bob and Merrily Carr came next, with their little boy, Axel. They owned and operated 3 OF A KIND, Buffalo Valley’s bar and grill. After that, the banker, Heath Quantrill, offered his condolences. Rachel Fischer was with him, and if Margaret remembered correctly, they were a couple now.

Ranchers and farmers crowded the house. So many people. There barely seemed room to breathe.

“Do you need anything?” Maddy McKenna asked with a gentleness that nearly broke Margaret’s facade. Maddy was the best friend she’d ever had. If anyone understood, it would be Maddy.

“I want everyone to leave,” Margaret whispered, fighting back emotion. The lump in her throat refused to go away and she had trouble talking around it.

Maddy took Margaret by the arm and led her down the long hallway to her bedroom. The two of them had spent many an afternoon in this very room; at Margaret’s entreaty, Maddy had tried to instruct her in the arts of looking and acting feminine—feminine enough to attract Matt Eilers. Not that her efforts had been noticed. Not by him, anyway.

“Sit,” Maddy ordered, pointing to Margaret’s bed.

Without argument, Margaret complied.

“When was the last time you had any sleep?”

Margaret blinked, unable to recall. “A while ago.” The night before the funeral she’d sat up and gone through her father’s papers. He had everything in order, as she’d suspected he would. He’d realized months ago that he was dying.

“Lie down,” Maddy said.

“I have a house full of company,” Margaret objected weakly. It went against the grain to let someone dictate what she should or shouldn’t do. With anyone else, she’d have made a fuss, insisted it was her place to be with her father’s friends.

“You’re dead on your feet,” Maddy told her.

Margaret nestled her head in her pillow, surprised by how good it felt against her face. How cool and comforting. “I…I thought I was prepared,” she said, her eyes closed. “I thought I could handle this.”

“No one’s ever ready to lose a father,” Maddy said as she covered Margaret with the afghan from the foot of the bed. The weight of it settled warmly over her shoulders.

“Sleep now. By the time you wake, everyone will be gone.”

“Nothing’s ever going to be the same again,” Margaret whispered.

“You’re right, it won’t.”

Maddy’s voice sounded soothing, even if her words didn’t. But then, Margaret could count on her friend to tell the truth. Already she could feel sleep approach, could feel the tension leave her body. “Matt didn’t attend the funeral, did he?”

“No,” Maddy said.

“I thought he would.” She was keenly disappointed that he hadn’t bothered to show up.

“I know.”

Maddy was disappointed in him, too. Margaret could tell from the inf lection in her voice. Few people understood why she loved Matt. If pressured to explain, Margaret wasn’t sure she could justify her feelings. Matt Eilers was as handsome as sin, shallow and conceited. But she loved him and had from the moment she’d met him.

With Maddy’s tutoring, Margaret had done everything possible to get Matt to recognize that she was a woman with a woman’s heart. A few months back, she’d had her hair done and put on panty hose for the f irst time in her life. The panty hose had nearly wrestled her to the ground and the new hairdo had made her look like one of the Marx Brothers—in her opinion, anyway. The whole beautifying operation had been a unique form of torture, but she’d willingly do it all again for Matt.

“I’m sure he’ll stop by later and pay his respects,” Margaret whispered, confident that he would.

“He should have been here today.” Maddy wasn’t nearly as forgiving. “Don’t worry about Matt.”

“I’m not.”

“Call me in the morning,” Maddy said.

“I will,” she promised, exhausted and grateful for Maddy’s friendship. Her last thought before she drifted off to sleep was of the father she loved and how bleak her life would feel without him.

Jeb McKenna knew his wife well, and her silence worried him as he drove the short distance between the Clemens house and his ranch. Unlike the Clemense’s and most other ranchers in the area, Jeb raised bison; Maddy owned the grocery store in town. Right now, though, she was staying home with their infant daughter.

“You’re worried about Margaret, aren’t you?” he asked as he turned down the mile-long dirt driveway leading to their home. Maddy had barely said a word after seeing Margaret to her room.

“She was ready to collapse,” Maddy told him. “God only knows the last time she slept. Sadie said she’d been up for two nights straight.”

“Poor thing.” One didn’t generally think of Margaret in those terms. She came across as tough, strong, capable. They’d been neighbors for about five years—ever since Jeb had bought the property—and he’d seen Margaret on a number of different occasions. It was some time before he’d realized Margaret was a she instead of a he.

It’d startled him, but he wasn’t the only person she’d inadvertently fooled. Maddy confessed that when they’d first met, she’d taken Margaret for a ranch hand.

“Bernard’s death has shaken her.”

Jeb understood. Joshua McKenna was in his late sixties now, and Jeb knew that sooner or later he, too, would lose his father. The inevitability of it made him feel a wave of sadness…and regret. He parked the car and turned off the engine.

“I’ll talk to Margaret in the morning,” Maddy said absently.

The October wind beat against him as Jeb climbed out of the vehicle and reached in the back to unfasten Julianne’s car seat. At three months she was showing more personality than he would’ve thought possible. She gurgled and smiled, waving her arms as though orchestrating life from her infant seat. She’d proved to be a good-natured baby, happy and even-tempered.

Carrying the baby seat, he covered Julianne’s face with the blanket and hurried toward the house, doing his best to protect his wife and daughter from the brunt of the wind.

Maddy switched on the kitchen lights and Jeb set the baby carrier on the recliner, unfastening Julianne and cradling her in his arms.

“I liked Pastor Dawson,” Maddy said casually.

The Methodist minister had recently taken up residence in town. Although Larry Dawson had grown up in Buffalo Valley, Jeb didn’t remember him. That wasn’t surprising, seeing that the pastor was near retirement age. Dawson was slight in stature, his hair—what was left of it—completely white. He hadn’t been in contact with Bernard Clemens for many years, but he’d given a respectable eulogy.

“The pastor invited us to church services on Sunday,” she murmured.

Although it was an offhand remark, Jeb knew Maddy was interested in becoming involved with a church community. He hesitated; the drive into Buffalo Valley took at least fifty minutes, and that was on a good day. Going to church would consume nearly all of Sunday morning. He opened his mouth, about to offer his wife a list of excuses as to why it would be inconvenient to attend. Before he could utter a word, he changed his mind. The fact that she’d mentioned the invitation at all meant this was important to her and shouldn’t be taken lightly.

When he married Maddy, Jeb knew there’d be a number of concessions on his part, but he loved her enough to make them. She’d certainly made concessions of her own—one of which was living so far out of town, away from her friends and the grocery she’d purchased a little more than a year ago. Church for Maddy would be a social outlet, and it would uplift her emotionally and spiritually. Women needed that.

Jeb and Maddy had met soon after she’d bought the one and only grocery store in Buffalo Valley. Her lifelong friend, Lindsay Snyder, had begun teaching at the high school and married Gage Sinclair the following summer. Maddy had been Lindsay’s maid of honor; the very day of the wedding she’d decided to settle in Buffalo Valley herself.

Jeb would be forever grateful that she had. His life changed the day he rescued Maddy during a blizzard. She’d been trapped in her car while delivering groceries and would have frozen to death if he hadn’t found her when he did. He’d brought her home with him, never suspecting that their time together would have consequences affecting both their lives. Consequences that included an unexpected pregnancy… He’d fallen in love with her in those three snowbound days. After losing his leg in a farming accident several years earlier, Jeb had thought it would never be possible for him to live a normal life again—or to feel normal emotions, normal desires. Maddy had shown him otherwise. They’d been married four months now and he was so much in love with her he had to pinch himself every once in a while to convince himself this was real.

“What do you think about us attending church services?” she pressed, studying him closely.

“I think that’s a fine idea,” he said. It wouldn’t hurt and might even do him some good.

Her smile told him how much she appreciated his response.

A few minutes later, Maddy efficiently changed Julianne’s diaper, then settled into the rocking chair. She unbuttoned her blouse and bared her breast for their baby. Fascinated, Jeb watched as his infant daughter instinctively turned toward her mother and greedily latched on.

Maddy rocked gently and hummed a lullaby. It wasn’t long before his daughter had taken her fill and Maddy carried her into the nursery to prepare her for the night.

Jeb had the television on, watching a news broadcast, when Maddy joined him. They’d decided to skip dinner, since they’d eaten the equivalent of a meal at Bernard’s wake that afternoon. Now, sitting at her husband’s side, Maddy picked up her knitting, a recently learned skill. Leta Betts, a devout knitter and Lindsay’s mother-in-law, had taught both Maddy and Lindsay how to knit while they were pregnant. “I wonder what Margaret’s going to do now.”

Jeb glanced away from the television long enough to recognize that Maddy needed to talk about this. He reached for the remote control and muted the sound. “It wasn’t as though Bernard’s death came as a shock.”

“I know. It’s just that…”

“What?” he urged.

“I’m worried about what’ll happen to Margaret without her father there to protect her.”

“How do you mean?”

“She’s alone for the f irst time in her life—and vulnerable.”

Jeb frowned. He hadn’t given the matter much thought, but Maddy was right. Margaret had lived a sheltered life, protected by her father and his name.

“She’s easy prey for some man. Anyone with a good line can just step in and take advantage of her. Look at all the attention she got at Bob and Merrily’s wedding.”

Jeb had no recollection of anything about that night except Maddy. She’d been seven months pregnant with his child. It was the night he’d asked her to marry him and she’d agreed. Read more

Alaska Home

Hard Luck, Alaska- a town that needs women! Location: 50 miles north of the Arctic Circle. Population: 150 — mostly men — but growing! Because the O’Halloran brothers, who run a bush-plane charter service called Midnight Sons, are heading a Read more

Alaska Skies

It had been one of those days. Abbey Sutherland made herself a cup of tea, then sat in the large overstuffed chair and propped her feet on the ottoman. She closed her eyes, soaking in the silence.

The morning had started badly when Scott overslept, which meant he and Susan had missed the school bus. Seven-year-old Susan had insisted on wearing her pink sweater, which was still in the dirty-clothes hamper, and she’d whined all the way to school. Abbey had driven them, catching every red light en-route.

By the time she arrived at the library, she was ten minutes late. Mrs. Duffy gave her a look that could have curdled milk.

But those minor irritations faded after lunch. Abbey received notice that the library’s budget for the next fiscal year had been reduced and two positions would be cut—the positions held by the most recently hired employees. In other words, Abbey was going to lose her job in less than three months.

She finally got home at six o’clock, tired, short-tempered and depressed. That was when Mr. Erickson, the manager of the apartment complex, hand-delivered a note informing her the rents were being raised.

It was the kind of day even hot fudge couldn’t salvage.

Sensing her mood, the kids had acted up all evening. Abbey was exhausted, and she didn’t think reruns of Matlock were going to help.

Sipping her tea, she wondered what had happened to throw her life off course. She had a savings account, but there wasn’t enough in it to pay more than a month’s worth of bills. She refused to go to her parents for money. Not again. It had been too humiliating the first time, although they’d been eager to help. Not once had her mother or father said “I told you so,” when she filed for divorce, although they’d issued plenty of warnings when she’d announced her intention to marry Dick Sutherland. They’d been right. Five years and two children later, Abbey had returned to Seattle emotionally battered, broken-hearted and just plain broke.

Her parents had helped her back on her feet despite their limited income and lent her money to finish her education. Abbey had painstakingly repaid every penny, but it had taken her almost three years.

The newspaper, still rolled up, lay at her feet, and she picked it up. She might as well start reading through the want ads now, although she wasn’t likely to find another job as an assistant librarian. With cuts in local government spending, positions in libraries were becoming rare these days. But if she was willing to relocate…

“Mom.” Scott stood beside her chair.

“Yes?” She climbed out of her depression long enough to manage a smile for her nine-year-old son.

“Jason’s dog had her puppies.”

Abbey felt her chest tighten. Scott had been asking for a dog all year. “Honey, we’ve already been over this a hundred times. The apartment complex doesn’t allow pets.”

“I didn’t say I wanted one,” he said defensively. “All I said was that Jason’s dog had puppies. I know I can’t have a dog as long as we live here, but I was thinking that maybe with the rent increase we might move.”

“And if we do move,” Abbey said, “you want me to look for a place where we can have a dog.”

Her son grinned broadly. “Jason’s puppies are really, really cute, Mom. And they’re valuable, too! But you know what kind are my favorite?”

She did, but she played along. “Tell me.”

“Huskies.”

“Because the University of Washington mascot is a husky.”

“Yeah. They have cool eyes, don’t they? And I really like the way their tails loop up. I know they’re too big for me to have as a pet, but I still like them best.”

Abbey held out her arm to her son. He didn’t cuddle with her much anymore. That was kid stuff to a boy who was almost ten. But tonight he seemed willing to forget that.

He clambered into the chair next to her, rested his head against her shoulder and sighed. “I’m sorry I overslept this morning,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“That’s all right.” There was a pause. “I promise to get out of bed when you call from now on, okay?”

“Okay.” Abbey closed her eyes, breathing in the clean shampoo scent of his hair.

They sat together for a few more minutes, saying nothing.

“You’d better get back to bed,” Abbey said, although she was reluctant to see him go.

Scott climbed out of the chair. “Are we going to move?” he asked, looking at her with wide eyes.

“I guess we are,” she said and smiled.

“‘Night, Mom.” Scott smiled, too, then walked down the hall to his bedroom.

Abbey’s heart felt a little lighter as she picked up the paper and peeled off the rubber band. She didn’t bother to look at the front page, but turned directly to the classifieds.

The square box with the large block printing attracted her attention immediately. “LONELY MEN IN HARD LUCK, ALASKA, OFFER JOBS, HOMES AND LAND.” Below in smaller print was a list of the positions open.

Abbey’s heart stopped when she saw “librarian.”

Hard Luck, Alaska. Jobs. A home with land. Twenty acres. Good grief, that was more than her grandfather had owned when he grew raspberries in Puyallup a generation earlier.

Dragging out an atlas, Abbey flipped through the pages until she found Alaska. Her finger ran down the list of town names until she came across Hard Luck. Population 150.

She swallowed. A small town generally meant a sense of community. That excited her. As a girl, she’d spent summers on her grandparents’ farm and loved it. She wanted to give her children the same opportunity. She was sure the three of them could adjust to life in a small town. In Alaska.

Using the atlas’s directions to locate the town, Abbey drew her finger across one side of the page and down the other.

Her excitement died. Hard Luck was above the Arctic Circle. Oh, dear. Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea, after all.

The following morning, Abbey reviewed her options.

She set out a box of cold cereal, along with a carton of milk. A still-sleepy Scott and Susan pulled out chairs and sat at the table.

“Kids,” she said, drawing a deep breath, “what would you say if I suggested we move to Alaska?”

“Alaska?” Scott perked up right away. “That’s where they have huskies!”

“Yes, I know.”

“It’s cold there, isn’t it?” Susan asked.

“Very cold. Colder than it’s ever been in Seattle.”

“Colder than Texas?”

“Lots colder,” Scott said in a superior older-brother tone. “It’s so cold you don’t even need refrigerators, isn’t that right, Mom?”

“Uh, I think they probably still use them.”

“But they wouldn’t need to if they didn’t have electricity. Right?”

“Right.”

“Could I have a dog there?”

Abbey weighed her answer carefully. “We’d have to find that out after we arrived.”

“Would Grandma and Grandpa come and visit?” Susan asked.

“I’m sure they would, and if they didn’t, we could visit them.”

Scott poured cereal into his bowl until it threatened to spill over.

“I read an ad in the paper last night. Hard Luck, Alaska, needs a librarian, and it looks like I’m going to need a new job soon.”

Scott and Susan didn’t comment.

“I didn’t think it would be fair to call and ask for an interview without discussing it with both of you first.”

“You should go for it,” Scott advised, but Abbey could see visions of huskies in her son’s bright blue eyes.

“It’ll mean a big change for all of us.”

“Is there snow all the time?” Susan wanted to know.

“I don’t think so, but I’ll ask.” Abbey hesitated, wondering exactly how much she should tell her children. “The ad said the job comes with a cabin and twenty acres of land.”

The spoon was poised in front of Scotty’s mouth. “To keep?”

Abbey nodded. “But we’d need to live there for a year. I imagine there won’t be many applicants, but then I don’t know. There doesn’t seem to be an abundance of jobs for assistant librarians, either.”

“I could live anywhere for a year. Go for it, Mom!”

“Susan?” Abbey suspected the decision would be more difficult for her daughter.

“Will there be girls my age?”

“Probably, but I can’t guarantee that. The town only has 150 people, and it would be very different from the life we have here in Seattle.”

“Come on, Susan,” Scott urged. “We could have our very own house.”

Susan’s small shoulders heaved in a great sigh. “Do you want to move, Mommy?”

Abbey stroked her daughter’s hair. Call her greedy. Call her materialistic. Call her a sucker, but she couldn’t stop thinking about those twenty acres and that cabin. No mortgage. Land. Security. And a job she loved. All in Hard Luck, Alaska.

She inhaled deeply, then nodded.

“Then I guess it would be all right.”

Scott let out a holler and leapt from his chair. He grabbed Abbey’s hands and they danced around the room.

“I haven’t got the job yet,” Abbey cried, breathless.

“But you’ll get it,” Scott said confidently.

Abbey hoped her son was right.

Abbey took several calming breaths before walking up to the hotel desk and giving her name.

“Mr. O’Halloran’s taking interviews in the Snoqualmie Room on the second floor,” the clerk told her.

Abbey’s fingers tightened around her résumé as she headed for the escalator. Her heart pounded heavily, feeling like a lead weight in her chest.

Her decision to apply for this position had understandably received mixed reactions. Both Scott and Susan were excited about the prospect of a new life in Hard Luck, but Abbey’s parents were hesitant.

Marie Murray would miss spoiling her grandchildren. Abbey’s father, Wayne, was convinced she didn’t know what she’d be getting into moving to the frozen north. But he seemed to forget that she made her living in a library. Soon after placing the initial call, Abbey had checked out a number of excellent books about life in Alaska. Her research had told her everything she wanted to know—and more.

Nevertheless, she’d already decided to accept the job if it was offered. No matter how cold the winters were, living in Hard Luck would be better than having to accept money from her parents.

Abbey found the Snoqualmie Room easily enough and glanced inside. A lean, rawboned man in his early thirties sat at a table reading intently. The hotel staff must have thought applicants would arrive thirsty, because they’d supplied a pitcher of ice water and at least two dozen glasses.

“Hello,” she said with a polite smile. “I’m Abbey Sutherland.”

“Abbey.” The man stood abruptly as if she’d caught him unawares. “I’m Christian O’Halloran. We spoke on the phone.” He motioned to the seat on the other side of the table. “Make yourself comfortable.”

She sat and handed him her résumé.

He barely looked at it before setting it aside. “Thank you. I’ll read this later.”

Abbey nervously folded her hands in her lap and waited.

“You’re applying for the position of librarian, right?”

“Yes. I’m working toward my degree in library science.”

“In other words, you’re not a full librarian.”

“That’s correct. In Washington state, a librarian is required to have a master’s degree in library science. For the last two years I’ve worked as an assistant librarian for King County.” She paused. Christian O’Halloran was difficult to read. “I answer reference questions, do quick information retrieval and customer service, and of course I have computer skills.” She hesitated, wondering if she should continue.

“That sounds perfect. Hard Luck doesn’t exactly have a library at the moment. We do have a building of sorts……

“Books?”

“Oh, yes, hundreds of those. At least a thousand. They were a gift to the town, and we need someone who’s capable of handling every aspect of organizing a library.”

“I’d be fully capable of that.” She listed a number of responsibilities she’d handled in her job with the King County library system. Somehow, though, Abbey couldn’t shake the feeling that Christian O’Halloran wasn’t really interested in hearing about her qualifications.

He mentioned the pay, and although it wasn’t as much as she was earning with King County, she wouldn’t need to worry about rent.

A short silence followed, almost as if he wasn’t sure what else to ask.

“Could you tell me a little about the library building?” she ventured.

He nodded. “Actually it was a home at one time—my grandfather’s original homestead, in fact—but I don’t think you’d have much of a problem turning it into a library, would you?”

“Probably not.”

Already, Abbey’s mind was at work, dividing up the house. One of the bedrooms could be used for fiction, another for non-fiction. The dining room would be perfect for a reading room, or it could be set up as an area for children. Read more

Head Over Heels

His billboard was brazen, but with mere weeks to find a wife to warm his winter nights, forthright frontiersman Chase Goodman couldn’t waste time on sweet talk. Lesley Campbell was not in the market for pretty promises. She’d been fooled Read more

A Country Christmas

Cal Patterson knew his wife would be furious. Competing in the annual Labor Day rodeo, however, was worth Jane’s wrath—although little else was.

Bull riding had always enticed him, even more than bronc riding or roping or any of the other competitions. It was the thrill that got to him, the danger of riding a fifteen-hundred-pound bull, of staying on for eight seconds and sometimes longer. He craved the illusion that for those brief moments he was in control. Cal didn’t do it for the trophy—if he was fortunate enough to take top prize—or to hear his name broadcast across the rodeo grounds. He was drawn by the challenge, pitting his will against the bull’s savage strength, and yes, the risk. Jane would never understand that; she’d been raised a city girl and trained as a doctor, and she disapproved of what she called unnecessary risk. In her opinion, bull riding fell squarely into that category. He’d tried to explain his feelings about it, but clearly he’d failed. Jane still objected fervently whenever he mentioned his desire to enter rodeo competitions. Okay, okay, so he’d busted a rib a few years back and spent several pain-filled weeks recuperating. Jane had been angry with him then, too. She’d gotten over it, though, and she would again—but not without inducing a certain amount of guilt first.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she ushered their three-year-old son, Paul, into the bleachers. Cal dutifully followed behind, carrying eighteen-month-old Mary Ann, who was sound asleep in his arms. As soon as his family was settled, he’d be joining the other competitors near the arena. A few minutes later, Jane would open the program and see his name. Once she did, all hell would break loose. He sighed heavily. His brother and sister-in-law would be arriving shortly, and if he was lucky, that’d buy him a couple of minutes.

“Glen and Ellie are meeting us here, aren’t they?” Jane asked, her voice lowered so as not to disturb the baby. His daughter rested her head of soft blond curls against his shoulder, thumb in her mouth. She looked peaceful, downright angelic—quite a contrast to her usual energetic behavior.

“They’ll be here soon,” Cal answered, handing Mary Ann to Jane.

With two children demanding her time and attention, plus the ranch house and everything else, Jane had cut back her hours at the medical clinic to one weekend a month. Cal knew she missed practicing medicine on a more frequent basis, but she never complained. He considered himself a lucky man to have married a woman so committed to family. When the kids were in school, she’d return to full-time practice, but for now, Paul and Mary Ann were the focus of her life.

Just then, Jane reached for the schedule of rodeo events and Cal tensed, anticipating her reaction.

“Cal Patterson, you didn’t!” Her voice rose to something resembling a shriek as she turned and glared at him.

“Cal?” She waited, apparently hoping for an explanation.

However, he had nothing to say that he hadn’t already said dozens of times. It wouldn’t do any good to trot out his rationalizations yet again; one look told him she wouldn’t be easily appeased. His only option was to throw himself on her good graces and pray she’d forgive him quickly.

“You signed up for the bull ride?”

“Honey, now listen—”

“Are you crazy? You got hurt before! What makes you think you won’t get hurt this time, too?”

“If you’d give me a chance to—”

Jane stood, cradling Mary Ann against her. Paul stared up at his parents with a puzzled frown.

“Where are you going?” he asked, hoping he could mollify her without causing a scene.

“I refuse to watch.”

“But, darling…”

She scowled at him. “Don’t you darling me!”

Cal stood, too, and was given a reprieve when Glen and Ellie arrived, making their way down the long row of seats. His brother paused, glancing from one to the other, and seemed to realize what was happening. “I take it Jane found out?”

“You knew?” Jane asked coldly.

Ellie shook her head. “Not me! I just heard about it myself.”

“Looks like Jane’s leaving me,” Cal joked, trying to inject some humor into the situation. His wife was overreacting. There wasn’t a single reason she should walk out now, especially when she knew how excited their three-year-old son was about seeing his first rodeo.

“That’s exactly what you deserve,” she muttered, bending to pick up her purse and the diaper bag while holding Mary Ann tightly against her shoulder.

“Mommy?”

“Get your things,” she told Paul. “We’re going home.”

Paul’s lower lip started to quiver, and Cal could tell that his son was struggling not to cry. “I want to see the rodeo.”

“Jane, let’s talk about this,” Cal murmured.

Paul looked expectantly from his father to his mother, and Jane hesitated.

“Honey, please,” Cal said, hoping to talk her into forgiveness—or at least acceptance. True, he’d kept the fact that he’d signed up for bull riding a secret, but only because he’d been intent on delaying a fight. This fight.

“I don’t want Paul to see you injured,” she said.

“Have a little faith, would you?”

His wife frowned, her anger simmering.

“I rode bulls for years without a problem. Tell her, Glen,” he said, nodding at his brother.

“Hey,” Glen said, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender. “You’re on your own with this one, big brother.”

“I don’t blame you for being mad,” Ellie said, siding with Jane. “I’d be furious, too.”

Women tended to stick together, but despite Ellie’s support, Cal could see that Jane was weakening.

“Let Paul stay for the rodeo, okay?” he cajoled. “He’s been looking forward to it all week. If you don’t want him to see me compete, I understand. Just leave when the bull riding starts. I’ll meet you at the chili cook-off when I’m done.”

“Please, Mommy? I want to see the rodeo,” Paul said again, eyes huge with longing. The boy pleaded his case far more eloquently than he could, and Cal wasn’t fool enough to add anything more.

Jane nodded reluctantly, and with a scowl in his direction, she sat down. Cal vowed he’d make it up to her later.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her, wanting Jane to know he loved and appreciated her. He slid his arm around her shoulders, hugging her close. But all the while, his heart thundered with excitement at the thought of getting on the back of that bull. He couldn’t keep his gaze from wandering to the chute.

Jane might have been born and raised in the big city, but she was more than a little bit country now. Still, she’d probably never approve of certain rodeo events. Cal recognized her fears, and as a result, rarely competed anymore—hadn’t in five years. But he expected Jane to recognize the impulses that drove him, too.

Compromise. Wasn’t that what kept a marriage intact?

*
• *

Jane had no intention of forgetting Cal’s deceit, but now wasn’t the time or place to have it out with her husband. He knew how she felt about his competing in the rodeo. She’d made her views completely clear, even before they were married.

Still, she’d acquiesced and held her tongue. She glanced at Cal’s brother and sister-in-law and envied them. Their kids were with a baby-sitter, since they planned to attend the dance later that evening. Jane would’ve preferred to stay, too, but when she’d mentioned it to Cal, he’d balked. Dancing wasn’t his favorite activity and he’d protested and complained until she dropped it.

Then he’d pulled this stunt. Men!

Partway through the rodeo, Paul fell asleep, leaning against her side. Cal had already left to wait down by the arena with the other amateur riders. As the time approached for him to compete, she considered leaving, but then decided to stay. Her stomach would be in knots whether she was there watching him or not. Out of sight wasn’t going to put her risk-taking husband out of mind, and with Paul asleep, there was no reason to go now.

“Are you worried?” Ellie asked, casting her a sympathetic look.

She nodded. “Of course, I don’t know what Cal was thinking.”

“Who said he was thinking at all?” Ellie teased.

“Yeah—it’s the testosterone,” Jane muttered, wondering what her husband found so appealing about riding such dangerous beasts. Her nerves were shattered, and that wasn’t going to change. Not until she knew he was safe.

“I was hoping you and Cal would come to the dance.”

Ellie was obviously disappointed, but no more than Jane herself. She would’ve loved an evening out. Had she pressed the issue, Cal would eventually have given in, but it hadn’t seemed worth the arguments and the guilt. Besides, getting a sitter would’ve been difficult, since nearly everyone in Promise attended the annual Labor Day rodeo—and Ellie had managed to snag the services of Emma Bishop, one of the few teenagers available for baby-sitting.

“Cal didn’t want to leave the kids,” she explained. There’d be other dances, other opportunities, Jane reassured herself.

“He’s up next,” Glen said.

“Go, Cal!” Ellie squealed. Despite her sister-in-law’s effort to sound sympathetic, Jane could tell she was excited.

When Cal’s name was announced, Jane didn’t want to look but couldn’t stop herself. Cal was inside the pen, sitting astride the bull, one end of a rope wrapped around the saddle horn and the other around his hand. She held her sleeping child more tightly and bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Suddenly the gate flew open and fifteen hundred pounds of angry bull charged into the arena.

Almost immediately, Glen and Ellie were on their feet, shouting. Jane remained seated, her arms around her children. “What’s happening?” she asked Ellie in a tight, urgent voice.

“Cal’s doing great!” she exclaimed. Jane could barely hear her over the noise of the crowd. Ellie clapped wildly when the buzzer went. “He stayed on!” she crowed. “So far, he’s ahead!”

Jane nodded. How he’d managed to last all those seconds, she had no idea.

“Whew. Glad that’s over.” Ellie sank down next to Jane.

“My brother’s got a real flair for this,” Glen said to no one in particular. “He could’ve gone on the circuit if…” He let the rest fade.

“If he wasn’t married,” Jane said, completing his thought. Actually Glen’s assessment wasn’t really accurate. Her husband was a long-established rancher before she’d come on the scene. He’d competed in rodeos since he was in his teens, but if he’d been interested in turning professional, he would have done so when he was much younger. She had nothing to do with that decision.

“Glen,” Ellie said, squeezing her husband’s arm, “who’s that woman over there?” Ellie was staring at a brunette standing near the fence.

“What woman?” Glen asked.

“The one talking to Cal.”

Jane glanced over, and even from this distance she could see that the other woman was lovely. Tall and slender, she looked like a model from the pages of a Western-wear catalog in her tight jeans, red cowboy boots and brightly checked shirt. It was more than just her appearance, though. Jane noticed the confidence with which she held herself, the flirtatious way she flipped back her long brown hair. This was a woman who knew she looked good—especially to men.

“She seems familiar,” Ellie said, nudging Glen. “Don’t you think?”

“She does,” he agreed, “but I can’t place her.”

“Apparently she’s got a lot to say to Cal,” Ellie added, then glanced apologetically toward Jane as though she regretted mentioning it.

Jane couldn’t help being curious. The woman wasn’t anyone she recognized. She wasn’t the jealous type, but she found herself wondering how this Rodeo Princess knew her husband. It was clear that the woman was speaking animatedly to Cal, gesturing freely; for his part, Cal seemed more interested in what was happening with the rodeo than in listening to her.

Jane supposed she should be pleased by his lack of interest in another woman, and indeed she was. Then, as if aware of her scrutiny, her husband turned toward the bleachers and surveyed the crowd. His face broke into a wide grin when he caught her eye, and he waved. Earlier she’d been annoyed with him— in fact, she still was—but she’d never been able to resist one of Cal’s smiles. She waved in return and blew him a kiss.

An hour later, after Cal had been awarded the trophy for the amateur bull-riding competition, they decided to leave. With Mary Ann in the stroller and Paul walking between them, they made one last circuit of the grounds before heading toward the parking lot. They passed the chili cook-off tent, where the winner’s name was posted; for the first time in recent memory, it wasn’t Nell Grant. But then, Jane understood that Nell had declined to enter this year.

It was near dusk and lights from the carnival rides sparkled, delighting both Paul and Mary Ann. Cal’s arm was around Jane’s shoulder as they skirted the area set aside for the dance. The fiddle players were entertaining the audience while the rest of the musicians set up their equipment. People had gathered around, tapping their feet in anticipation.

The lively music had Jane swaying to the beat. “I wish we were staying,” she murmured, swallowing her disappointment.

“We’d better get home,” Cal said, swinging his trophy at his side. “I didn’t want to say anything before, but I’m about as sore as a man can get.”

“Your rib?” she asked.

He grimaced, obviously in pain. “Are you going to lecture me?”

“I should,” she told him. “But I won’t. You knew the risks.”

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “You’re right. I did.”

What really bothered her was that he’d known—and participated, anyway. He was fully aware that he could’ve been badly injured, or worse. And for what? She simply didn’t understand why a man would do anything so foolish when he had so much to lose. Read more

Alaska Nights

Hard Luck, Alaska- a town that needs women! Location: 50 miles north of the Arctic Circle. Population: 150–mostly men–but growing! Because the O’Halloran brothers, who run a bush-plane service called Midnight Sons, are heading a campaign to bring women to Read more

Orchard Valley Grooms

“Norah? Is that you?” Valerie Bloomfield’s voice rose expectantly. She’d been trying to reach her sister for the past hour with no success.

“Valerie, where are you?”

“I’m on a layover in Chicago.” She glanced around the departure lounge and surveyed the other passengers. “How’s Dad?”

Norah hesitated, and that slight pause sent Valerie’s worry escalating into panic. “Norah…” she began.

“He’s doing as well as can be expected.”

“Did you tell him I’m on my way?” Valerie had been in the middle of a business meeting in New York when she received the message. Her youngest sister had called the Houston office, and they’d passed on the news of her father’s heart attack. Valerie had left immediately, catching the first available flight. Unfortunately that meant going to Oregon via Chicago.

“Dad knows you’re coming.”

“Were you able to get hold of Steff?”

Norah’s sigh signaled her frustration. “Yes, but it took forever and my Italian is nonexistent. She’s planning to catch whatever she can out of Rome, but she has to get there first—she’s in some little village right now. It might take her a couple of days. The connection was bad and I couldn’t understand everything she said. Apparently there’s some sort of transportation strike. But she’s doing her best….”

Valerie’s sympathies went out to Stephanie, the middle Bloomfield sister. She must be frantic, stuck halfway across the world and desperate to find a way home.

“When will you get here?” Norah asked anxiously.

“The plane’s scheduled to land at six-ten.”

“Do you want me to meet you? I could—”

“No,” Valerie interrupted. She didn’t think it was a good idea for Norah to leave their father. “I’ve already ordered a car. It shouldn’t take me more than forty minutes once I land, so don’t worry about me.”

“But the hospital’s an hour’s drive from the airport. You shouldn’t even try to make it in less.”

It generally did take an hour, but Valerie had every intention of getting there a lot sooner. “I should be at the hospital somewhere around seven,” she said evasively.

“I’ll see you then.” Norah sounded resigned.

“Don’t worry, kid, everything’s going to be all right.”

“Just be careful, will you?” Norah pleaded. “You being in an accident won’t help Dad any.”

“I’ll be careful,” Valerie promised, smiling at her sister’s words. Trust Norah to take the practical approach. After a brief farewell, Valerie closed her cell phone and slipped it into her purse.

Half an hour later, she boarded her plane. She’d only brought a carry-on bag, unwilling to waste precious time waiting for luggage to be unloaded. Shutting her eyes, she leaned back in her seat as the plane taxied down the runway.

Her father was dying. Her dear father… His hold on life was precarious, and the burning need to get to him as quickly as possible drove her like nothing she’d ever experienced.

She was exhausted but sleep was out of the question. Valerie bent down for her purse, rummaging through it until she found the antacid tablets. She popped one in her mouth and chewed it with a vengeance. Read more

The Manning Brides

“I’m so stupid,” Jamie Warren wailed, tossing the crumpled tissue over her shoulder. Rich Manning, who was sitting across the kitchen table from her, held out a fresh one. “I trusted Tony, and he’s nothing more than a…jerk.”

She yanked the tissue from Rich’s hand and ingloriously blew her nose. That tissue took the same path as the previous one. “I feel like the biggest fool who ever lived.”

“It’s Tony who’s the fool.”

“Oh, right. Then why am I the one sitting here crying my eyes out?” Jamie really didn’t expect him to answer. Calling Rich at an ungodly hour, sobbing out her tale of woe, wasn’t the most considerate thing she’d ever done, but she had to talk to someone and he was the first person who’d come to mind.

He was the kind of friend she felt comfortable calling in the middle of the night. The kind of friend who’d immediately drive over if she needed sympathy or consolation. They’d been close ever since they’d worked together on their yearbook in high school. Although they didn’t see each other often, Jamie had always felt their relationship was special.

“At least crying’s better than getting drunk, which is what I did when I found out Pamela was cheating on me,” Rich admitted with a wry twist of his mouth. He got up and poured them each another cup of coffee.

“You haven’t seen her since, have you?”

“Sure, I have. I wouldn’t want her to think I was jealous.”

Despite everything, Jamie laughed. “You’re still dating her? Even after you learned she was seeing another guy behind your back?”

Rich shrugged carelessly, as though the entire situation was of little consequence, something Jamie knew not to be the case. Although he’d been devastated, he’d worn a nonchalant facade. He might’ve fooled everyone else, but not Jamie. His flippant attitude couldn’t camouflage the pain.

“I took her to a movie a couple of times,” Rich continued. “I played it cool. But as far as I’m concerned, it was over the minute I heard about that other guy.”

“It’s over with me and Tony, too,” Jamie murmured. Just saying the words produced a painful tightening in her chest. She was truly in love with Tony and had been for nearly a year. They’d often talked about getting married and raising a family together. Jamie wanted children so badly. The weekend before, they’d gone shopping for engagement rings. Her mother, who was crazy about him, had been thrilled. Since Jamie was over thirty her mom tended to worry about her marriage prospects, but even she said that waiting for a man like Tony Sanchez had been time well spent. Sharing the bad news with her widowed mother had been almost as upsetting as learning about the betrayal itself.

“You’re sure the other woman’s baby is his?” Rich asked, reaching for her hand. “She could be stirring up trouble.”

“He didn’t bother to deny it.” In the beginning, Jamie had hoped the woman was lying. She’d searched Tony’s face, praying it was all some malicious joke. His beautiful dark eyes had turned defensive, but gradually the regret, the doubt, had shown, and he’d slid his gaze away from hers. It had been a mistake, he’d told her, a momentary slip in judgment. A one-night fling that meant nothing. He felt terrible about it and promised nothing like this would ever happen again.

Tony was cheating on her before they were even married, and Jamie didn’t need a crystal ball to know that pattern would almost certainly continue.

“This isn’t the first time,” she admitted, biting her lower lip to control the trembling. “Margie, in New Accounts, mentioned seeing Tony with a blonde a month or so ago. He’d told me he was out of town and I…I was sure it was just a case of mistaken identity. I should’ve known then.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Rich said, bending to brush a wisp of dark brown hair from her temple. “There were plenty of signs that Pamela was playing me for a fool, too, but I was so taken with her—”

“Bust line. Which was always your primary interest.”

“That’s probably why I never dated you,” he countered, grinning.

Jamie smiled. The joke was an old one between them. When they’d first been assigned to work together on the yearbook, Rich had been a popular football player and she’d been a nondescript bookworm. They’d clashed constantly. One day, after a particularly nasty confrontation, she’d shouted that if she had a bigger bust, he might actually listen to her. Rich had gone speechless, then he’d started to laugh. The laughter had broken the ice between them and they’d been friends ever since. The best of friends.

“I hear there’s help in the form of surgery,” he teased, leveling his gaze at her chest.

“Oh, honestly.” Her breasts weren’t that small, but it was comfortable and easy to fall into their old banter. Focusing on something other than what a mistake Tony had turned out to be provided her with a good—if momentary—distraction. She’d wasted an entire year of her life on him. An entire year!

Rich reached for his coffee, then leaned back in the chair and sighed. “I’m beginning to wonder if anyone’s faithful anymore.”

“I’m the last person you should be asking that,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. She didn’t blame Rich for having doubts. Relationships all around her seemed to be failing. Friends, whose marriages had appeared strong and secure, were divorcing. At work affairs were rampant. Casual sex. Jamie was sick of it all.

“When Mark Brooks cheated on my sister Taylor, she took that teaching position in another state,” Rich went on to say. “You know, I never much liked Mark. From the first I felt there was something off about him. I wish I’d spoken to Taylor about it.”

“I felt so bad for her.”

“The whole family was worried. Then she moved to the backwoods of Montana and a few months later, she married Russ Palmer. Everyone was sure she’d made a terrible mistake, marrying a cowpoke on the rebound, but I’ve never seen her happier. And now Christy’s married to Cody Franklin.”

“Christy’s married to whom?”

“The Custer County sheriff. She’s living in Montana, too.”

“But I thought she was engaged to James Wilkens! Good grief, I was at her engagement party just a few months ago.”

“It’s a long story, but James is out of the picture.”

“Christy dumped James?” It was hard to believe. Jamie had assumed they were perfect for each other. They’d acted like the ideal couple at the engagement party, sipping champagne and discussing wedding dates with their families.

Rich chuckled. “If you’re surprised by that, wait until you hear this. While Christy was still engaged to James, she was married to Cody.”

Jamie was shocked. She didn’t know Rich’s youngest sister well, but she would never have imagined Christy doing anything so underhanded. “I am surprised.”

“There were mitigating circumstances and it’s not as bad as it sounds, but Christy is yet another example of how fickle women can be.”

“Women?” Jamie protested. “Men are notoriously untrustworthy—they always have been.”

It looked as though Rich wanted to argue. He straightened and opened his mouth, then shook his head. Sighing, he drank the last of his coffee. “I’ve begun to think commitment means nothing these days.”

“I hate to be so cynical, but I agree.”

Standing, Rich carried his mug to the kitchen sink. “Are you going to be able to sleep now?”

Jamie nodded, although she wasn’t convinced. However, she’d taken enough of Rich’s time for one night and didn’t want to keep him any longer.

“Liar,” he whispered softly.

Jamie smiled and got up, too. He slipped his arms around her and she laid her cheek against his shoulder. It felt good to be held. Rich’s comfort was that of a loving friend, someone who truly cared about her without the complications of romance or male-female dynamics.

“You’re going to get through this.”

“I know,” she whispered. But she hadn’t been confident of that until she’d talked to Rich. How fortunate she was to have him as her friend. “We both will,” she added.

A sigh rumbled through Rich’s chest. “Don’t you wish life could be as simple now as it was in high school?”

That remark gave Jamie pause. “No,” she finally said, then laughed. “I was so shy back then.”

“Shy?” Rich argued, releasing her enough to cast her a challenging look. “You were a lot of things, Jamie Warren, but shy wasn’t one of them.”

“Maybe not with you.”

“I wish you had been, then you might’ve done things my way without so much arguing.”

“You’re still upset that I didn’t use your picture on the sports page, aren’t you? We’ve been out of high school for thirteen years and you haven’t forgiven me for using that shot of Josh McGinnes instead.”

Rich chuckled. “I could be upset, but I’m willing to let bygones be bygones.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She led him to the door of her condo. “Seriously, though, I really am grateful you came.”

“Call if you need me?”

She nodded. The worst of it was over. She would pick up the pieces of her life and start again, a little less trusting and a whole lot more wary.

Two months later, Rich was sitting in his office at Boeing when the image of Jamie Warren’s tear-streaked face drifted into his mind. It was as if their conversation had taken place just the night before—even though he’d talked to her two or three times over the holidays, and she’d sounded good. Cheerful, in fact. Certainly in better spirits than he’d been himself.

She hadn’t made any attempt to fool him. Tony had hurt her badly. From what she’d said, he’d made several attempts to resume their engagement, but she’d rejected the idea in no uncertain terms. It was plain to Rich that Tony Sanchez didn’t really know Jamie Warren. The woman was stubborn enough to impress a mule. Once she made up her mind, that was it. Oh, she appeared docile and easygoing, but Rich had collided with that stubborn streak of hers a time or two and come away battered and bruised.

It bothered Rich that Jamie had never married. She’d always loved children, and he’d fully expected her to have a passel of kids by now.

Most men, he realized, passed Jamie over without a second glance. That bothered him even more.

The problem, not that he’d call it a problem, was that she didn’t possess the looks of a beauty queen. She wasn’t plain, nor was she unappealing. She was just— he hated to admit it—ordinary. Generally, there was one thing or other that stood out in a woman. A flawless face. Cascades of shining hair, blond or gold or black… Jamie’s wasn’t blond and it wasn’t brunette but somewhere in between. And it wasn’t long, but it wasn’t short either. Some women had eyes that could pierce a man’s soul. Jamie had brown eyes. Regular brown eyes. Not dark or seductive or anything else, just brown eyes. Nice, but average.

She was about five-five, and a little on the thin side. Giving the matter some consideration, Rich noted that there didn’t seem to be any distinguishing curves on her. Not her hips, and certainly not her breasts. He could be mistaken of course, since he hadn’t really looked at her that way.… To be honest, he’d never looked at her in any way other than as a friend.

She didn’t have a body that would stop traffic. The thing was, a woman could have an ordinary face, but if she had curves, men fell all over themselves. Rich hated to admit something so derogatory about his fellow man, but he felt it was true.

What few took the time to see was Jamie’s warm heart and generous spirit. He’d never known a more giving woman. What she’d said about being shy was true, even though he’d denied it. Yet she had spunk and she had spirit. Enough to stand up to him, which was no easy thing.

Pushing against the edge of his desk, Rich rolled back his chair and stood up. He headed down the hallway with determination.

“Bill,” he said, striding purposefully into his friend’s office. “Got a minute?”

“What’s up?”

Rich had never played the role of matchmaker before, and he wasn’t sure where to start. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Oh.” Bill didn’t look too enthusiastic.

“A friend of mine.”

“Widowed or divorced?”

“Single.”

Bill’s brows arched toward his receding hairline. “You mean a leftover girl.”

Rich wasn’t comfortable thinking of Jamie as leftover, but this wasn’t the time to argue. “We went to high school together.”

“High school? Exactly how old is she?”

“Thirty-one.” Her birthday wasn’t until April. Their birthdays were both in April, and Jamie loved to point out that she was a whole week older. Read more

The Sooner the Better

“Eternal rest grant upon her, oh, Lord….” Lorraine Dancy closed her eyes as the first shovelful of dirt hit her mother’s casket. The sound seemed to reverberate around her, magnified a hundred times, drowning out the words intoned by Father Darien. This was her mother— her mother—and Virginia Dancy deserved so much more than a cold blanket of Kentucky mud.

Lorraine had received word the evening of April first that her mother had been involved in a horrible freeway accident. In the beginning she’d thought it was some kind of cruel hoax, a distasteful practical joke, but the mud-splattered casket was real enough to rip her heart wide open.

Her chest tightened with the effort to hold back tears. A low mewling escaped her lips and her trembling increased as she listened to the priest’s words in the gray afternoon.

After a while, the friends who’d come to say their last farewells started to move away. Father Darien gently took hold of Lorraine’s hands and in sincere compassionate tones offered a few final words of comfort. Reaching deep within herself, Lorraine managed to thank him.

Still, she remained, standing by her mother’s grave.

“Sweetheart.” Gary Franklin, her fiancé, stepped closer and placed his arm around her waist. “It’s time to go home.”

She resisted and held her ground when Gary tried to steer her toward the waiting limo. She wasn’t ready to leave her mother. Not yet. Please, not yet. It made everything so final…to turn her back and walk away.

This shouldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real. But the reality of the moment was undeniable—the open grave, the nearby headstones, the muddy ground. Her fears assailed her from all sides, sending a chill down her spine. Lorraine wasn’t sure she could survive without her mother’s love and support. Virginia had been her touchstone. Her example. Her mother.

“Sweetheart, I know this is difficult, but you can’t stay here.” Gary again tried to urge her away from the grave.

“No,” she said, her voice stronger now. What made it all the more difficult, all the more painful, was the complete lack of warning. Lorraine had talked to her mother that very weekend. They were so close; it had been the two of them against the world for as long as Lorraine could remember. Not a day passed that they didn’t connect in some way—with a conversation, a visit, an email message. On Saturday they’d spent more than an hour on the phone discussing plans for the wedding.

Her mother had been delighted when Lorraine accepted Gary’s proposal. Virginia had always liked Gary and encouraged the relationship from the beginning. Gary and her mother had gotten along famously.

Just last weekend—just a few days ago—her mother had been alive. During their phone call Virginia had chatted endlessly about the kind of wedding she wanted for her only child. They’d discussed the wedding dress, the bridesmaids, the flowers, the invitations. Lorraine had never heard her mother sound more excited. In her enthusiasm, Virginia had even mentioned her own wedding all those years ago and the only man she’d ever loved. She rarely spoke of Lorraine’s father. That was the one thing she didn’t share with her daughter—at least not since Lorraine’s early teens. Those were private memories, and it was as though Virginia held them close to her heart. They’d sustained her through the long lonely years of widowhood.

Lorraine couldn’t remember her father, who’d died when she was three. Her mother had loved Thomas Dancy so completely she’d never entertained the thought of remarrying. No man, she’d once told Lorraine, could live up to the memory of the one she’d lost.

Her parents’ love story was possibly the most romantic Lorraine had ever heard. When she was small, her mother had often told her how wonderful Thomas had been. In later years, of course, she hardly ever talked about him, but Lorraine remembered those long-ago stories—of her father being a decorated war hero and how her parents had defied everyone by getting married. They were the adventure tales, the marvelous bedtime stories of her early childhood, and they’d made a deep and lasting impression on her. It was one of the reasons Lorraine had waited until she was twenty-eight before becoming engaged herself. For years she’d been searching for a man like her father, a man who was noble. Honest. Brave. A man of integrity and high ideals. No one seemed right until Gary Franklin came into her life.

“Lorraine, everyone’s gone.” Gary’s arm tightened around her waist.

“Not yet. Please.” She couldn’t leave her mother, not like this. Not in a cold wet grave when Virginia Dancy hadn’t even reached the age of fifty. The pain was more than Lorraine could bear. As the agony of the moment overwhelmed her, tears began to roll down her cheeks.

“Come on, honey, let me get you away from here,” Gary murmured in a compassionate voice.

Lorraine took a step in retreat. She didn’t want Gary. She didn’t want anyone except her mother. And her mother was in a grave. “Oh, Mom,” she cried, then broke into sobs, unable to stop herself.

Gary turned her in his arms and held her protectively against him. “Let it out, sweetheart. It’s okay. Go ahead and cry.”

Lorraine hid her face in his shoulder and wept as she hadn’t since that night the state patrolman had come to her with the tragic news. How long Gary let her weep, she didn’t know. Until her eyes stung and her nose ran and there were no more tears to shed.

“The house is going to fill up and you’ll need to be there,” Gary reminded her.

“Yes, we should go,” she agreed, and wiped her nose with the tissue he handed her, grateful that Virginia’s neighbor, Mrs. Henshaw, would be there to let everyone in. Lorraine was calmer now, more self-possessed. People would want to talk about her mother, and since Lorraine was the only one left in the family, she’d have to be in control of her emotions.

Together she and Gary started toward the parking lot. Away from her mother. Away from the only parent she’d ever known.

Lorraine’s one, small comfort was the knowledge that after twenty-five years apart, her parents were finally together again.

Lorraine couldn’t sleep, but then she hadn’t really expected to. She should be exhausted. She was exhausted; she’d barely slept in days. This past week had been the most emotionally draining of her life. But even now, after the funeral and the wake, she was too restless to collapse into sleep.

Gary seemed to think that spending the night at her mother’s house wasn’t the best idea. He was probably right. Her judgment, along with everything else, had been thrown off-kilter by her mother’s death.

The wake had been here, at Virginia’s place, since Lorraine’s apartment was much too small to host the event, and a restaurant seemed too impersonal. Parishioners from St. John’s Church where Virginia had faithfully attended Mass all these years, plus a large group of neighbors, coworkers and friends, had lingered to tell Lorraine how sorry they were. They, too, appeared to have difficulty accepting the suddenness of her mother’s death.

Virginia had been an active member of St. John’s and a devout Catholic. For twenty years she sang in the choir and worked tirelessly for her church “family.” As a stockbroker with a large national firm, she’d made a name for herself in the business world. Turnover at the firm was high, and Virginia had learned that office friendships were often fleeting. Nevertheless, the house had been crammed with people.

Contrary to what Lorraine had assumed, she wasn’t needed as hostess. Friends and neighbors arrived bearing casseroles, breads and salads, which soon covered the dining-room table. The extras spilled into the kitchen and lined the countertops.

Lorraine was grateful to everyone, especially Gary who’d been both helpful and kind. Yet throughout the wake, all Lorraine had wanted was to be alone, to grieve by herself without people pressing in on her. But that wasn’t possible. It took her a while to realize that the friends who’d come were in need of solace, too. So she’d thanked them for their condolences and done her best to take on the role of comforter. Before long, she’d found herself depleted of energy, and she’d sunk into her mother’s favorite chair. Sitting there helped her feel closer to the mother she’d loved so deeply. It eased the ache of loneliness that threatened to consume her in a room full of people.

An endless stream of sympathy and advice had come at her.

“Of course you’ll want to keep the house…”

Lorraine had nodded.

“Naturally you’ll be selling the house…”

Lorraine had nodded.

“Your mother was a fine woman.”

“We’re all going to miss her.”

“She’s in a happier place now…”

“.such a senseless tragedy.”

Lorraine had agreed with one and all.

By the time everyone had left, it was dark. Gary had helped her with the cleanup and urged her to return to her own apartment. Or to his. He didn’t seem to understand her need to stay here, but how could he? He’d never lost a parent.

“You should go on home,” she’d told him. “I’ll be fine.”

“Darling, you shouldn’t be alone. Not tonight.”

“It’s what I want,” she’d insisted, yearning for him to leave. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and one she didn’t fully comprehend. She loved Gary, planned to spend the rest of her life with him, but at that moment she’d wanted him out the door. She had to deal with her grief and pain in her own way.

“You need me,” Gary told her with loving concern.

“I do,” she said. “Just not right now.”

Disappointment registered in his deep brown eyes and he nodded with obvious reluctance. “You’ll phone if you change your mind?”

Lorraine had said she would.

He’d kissed her on the forehead in a sweet gesture of love and consolation. Shivering with the evening’s cold, Lorraine had stood out on the porch and watched him drive off.

She’d cleared away the dishes, then wandered aimlessly through the house, pausing in the entrance to each room. Tenderly she caressed the things that had once been her mother’s most prized possessions. She closed her eyes and pictured her mother and father together at last and the wonderful reunion they must be enjoying.

Lorraine was comforted by the knowledge that Virginia had been happy during the last weeks of her life. She’d been thrilled at the news of her daughter’s engagement, thrilled at the prospect of planning a large formal wedding. No sooner had Lorraine said yes to Gary’s proposal than Virginia had started making elaborate plans for the October wedding. She’d valued tradition and frowned on Lorraine’s having chosen a small emerald necklace in lieu of the usual engagement ring.

“You have your wish now, Mom,” she said aloud. The wedding ring on her left hand had belonged to her mother. The inside of the band was engraved with the words “I’ll love you always. Thomas.” The funeral director had given it to her that very day, just before he’d closed the casket. Lorraine had slipped it on and wouldn’t remove it until the time came for her own wedding. Her mother had worn this ring since the day Thomas Dancy placed it on her finger, and now Lorraine would wear it, too.

“What am I going to do without you, Mom?” Lorraine said into the stillness of the night, her eyes welling with tears. It surprised her that she had any left.

She mulled over everything she’d done that had been a disappointment to her mother. She’d dropped out of medical school after her second year and trained as a nurse-practitioner, instead. Virginia had said little, but Lorraine knew her mother regretted that decision. She liked to think she’d made up for it when she met Gary, who sold medical supplies to Group Wellness, where Lorraine worked.

The fact that she’d become a lapsed Catholic had distressed her mother, as well, but Lorraine had never identified with the church the way Virginia had. She attended a nondenominational Christian church, but her mother would have preferred she remain Catholic.

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” she whispered, knowing she’d let her mother down in countless other ways.

When she’d finished her emotional journey through the house, Lorraine had taken a hot shower and changed into a nightgown, one she’d bought Virginia the previous Christmas. After giving the matter some thought, she’d chosen to sleep in her mother’s room, rather than her own. When she was frightened as a child, she’d always climbed into her mother’s bed. Lorraine was frightened now, afraid of the future, afraid to be without Virginia, without family.

As she lay there sleepless, she gathered her memories around her, finding consolation in the happiness they’d experienced. Day-to-day life had been full of shared pleasures, like cooking elaborate meals together, watching the classic movies they both loved, exchanging favorite books. Virginia also worked for several church-sponsored charities, and Lorraine sometimes spent an evening helping her pack up boxes of food for needy families, or stuffing envelopes. Her mother had been a wonderful woman, and Lorraine was proud of her. She’d been devout in her faith, hardworking, kindhearted. Smart, but generous, too.

After an hour or so, Lorraine gave up even trying to sleep. She sat up and reached for the framed photograph of her parents, which rested on the nightstand. The picture showed Virginia as young and beautiful, wearing a full, ankle-length dress with a wreath of wildflowers on her head. Her long straight hair fell nearly to her waist. She held a small bouquet of wildflowers in one hand; with the other hand she clasped her husband’s. Her eyes had been bright with happiness as she smiled directly into the camera.

The Thomas Dancy in the picture was tall and bearded, and wore his hair tied in a ponytail. He gazed at his bride with an identical look of love and promise. Anyone who saw the photograph could tell that the two of them had been deeply in love.

As recently as last weekend, when they’d been discussing Lorraine’s wedding plans, she’d teased her mother about the photo, calling her parents “flower children.” Virginia had been good-natured about it and merely said, “That was a long time ago.”

Sadly this photograph was the only one Lorraine had of her parents together. Everything else had been destroyed in a fire when she was in grade school. Lorraine remembered the fire, not realizing until years later all that she’d lost. Her parents’ photographs and letters, her father’s medals.

Lorraine knew that Virginia O’Malley had met Thomas Dancy her freshman year in college and they’d quickly fallen in love. The war in Vietnam had separated them when her father volunteered for the army in 1970. He’d survived the war and come home a hero. It was a year later, during a routine physical, that something unusual had shown up in his blood work. That something had turned out to be leukemia. Within six months, Thomas was dead and Virginia was a young widow with a child. Read more

Navy Brides

After walking over to the window in her brother’s empty apartment, Lindy Kyle paused and let her tired gaze rest on the view of downtown Seattle. Dusk was settling over the steel jungle, and giant shadows from the skyscrapers fell into the maze of concrete across the picturesque waterfront. In another mood Lindy would have been struck by the intricate beauty of what lay before her, but not now.
Seattle, as Steve had claimed, really was a lovely city. When she’d arrived, she’d been so preoccupied with trying to find the address of the apartment and the appropriate parking space for her Volkswagen Rabbit in the lot behind the building that she hadn’t taken the time to notice anything around her.

Now she sighed at the panorama that lay before her. “I’m actually here,” she said, mainly to hear herself speak. She’d come to expect a lot from one western city. She felt as an immigrant might have years ago, sailing into New York Harbor, seeking a new way of life and freedom from the shackles of the past. Lindy had been bound, too, in the chains of grief and unhappiness.

Dramatically she posed, pretending to be the Statue of Liberty, her right hand held high as if gripping a lighted torch, her left firmly clasping imaginary stone tablets. “Okay, Seattle, give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” Lindy sucked in a shaky breath and battled back tears. “Seattle, calm my fears. Clear my head.” She dropped her arms and swallowed at the growing knot in her throat. “Heal my heart,” she added in a broken whisper. “Please, heal my heart….”

Exhaling raggedly, she dropped her arm and admitted it was too much to expect – even from a place that had once been honored as the most livable city in the United States. Far too much to ask.

Suddenly exhausted, Lindy picked up her suitcase and headed down the narrow hallway toward the two bedrooms. She opened the first door and stood in the doorway examining the room. The closet, which was partly open, displayed an organized row of civilian clothes hanging inside, crisp and neat. A framed picture or two rested on the dresser, but Lindy didn’t pay attention to those. This had to be the bedroom of Rush Callaghan, her brother’s roommate. Currently both men were at sea serving six-month tours of duty. Steve was an officer aboard the submarine Atlantis, somewhere in the Pacific upholding God, country and the American flag. Lindy had no idea where Rush was and didn’t particularly care. Men weren’t exactly her favorite subject at the moment.

She closed the bedroom door and moved on to the next room. A dresser drawer hung open, mismatched socks draped over its edge. Bulky-knit sweaters were carelessly tossed on the ledge above the closet and shoes were heaped in a pile on the floor.

“Home, sweet home,” Lindy said with a soft smile. She really was fond of her brother, and although he was nearly ten years older, her childhood had been marked with memories of his wit and warmth. She laid her suitcase across the unmade bed, opened it and reached for Steve’s letter. “Come to Seattle,” he’d written in his lazy, uneven scrawl.

“Forget the past and make a new life for yourself.” Steve had had firsthand experience with pain, Lindy knew, and she respected his judgment. He’d survived the emotional trauma of divorce and seemed to have come out of it with a new maturity.

“You’ll know which bedroom is mine,” Steve’s letter continued. “I can’t remember the last time I changed the sheets so you might want to do that before you crash.”

Crashing certainly sounded inviting, Lindy mused, sinking with a sigh onto the edge of the unmade bed.

Although she’d nearly memorized Steve’s words, Lindy read completely through the letter once more. Clean sheets were in the hall closet, he explained, and she decided to tackle making the bed as soon as she’d unpacked her things. The washer and dryer were in a small laundry room off the kitchen, the letter went on to say.

When she finished reading, Lindy placed Steve’s instructions on top of the dresser. She stripped off the sheets, carried the bedding into the laundry room and started the washing machine.

When the phone rang it caught her off guard, and she widened her eyes and placed her hand over her heart as shock waves washed over her.

It rang one more time before she decided to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Lindy, it’s your mother.”

“Oh, hi, Mom.” Lindy smiled at her parents’ habit of identifying themselves. She’d been able to recognize her own family’s voices since she was a child.

“I take it you’ve arrived safely. Honey, you should have phoned – your father and I’ve been worried.”

Lindy sighed. “Mom, I just walked in the door not more than ten minutes ago. I was planning to phone after I fixed myself something to eat.”

“Did your car give you any problems?”

“None.”

“Good.” Her mother sounded relieved.

“Everything’s fine – just the way I said it would be,” Lindy added.

“What about money?”

“Mom, I’m doing great.” A slight exaggeration, but Lindy wasn’t desperate – at least she wouldn’t be if she found a job reasonably soon. The unemployment problem was one she hoped to correct first thing in the morning.

“I talked to your Uncle Henry in Kansas City and he said you should think about applying at Boeing … that airplane company. He claims they’re always looking for someone with a degree in computer science.”

“I’ll do that right away,” Lindy answered in an effort to appease her mother.

“You’ll let us know when you’ve found something?”

“Yes, Mom. I promise.”

“And don’t be shy about asking for money. Your father and I -”

“Mom, please don’t worry about me. I’m going to be just great.”

Her mother expelled her breath in a long, anxious sigh. “I do worry about you, sweetie. You’ve been so terribly unhappy. I can’t tell you how disappointed your father and I are in that young man of yours.”

“Paul isn’t mine anymore.” Lindy’s voice trembled a little, but she needed to say it out loud every now and then just to remind herself of the fact. For four years she’d linked all thoughts of her future with Paul; being without him felt as though a large part of herself was missing.

“I saw his mother the other day, and I’ll have you know I took a great deal of pleasure in looking the other way,” Grace Kyle continued, with more than a hint of righteous indignation.

“What happened between Paul and me isn’t Mrs. Abram’s fault.”

“No. But she obviously didn’t raise her son right – not if he could do something this underhanded and despicable to you.”

“Mom, do you mind if we don’t talk about Paul anymore? Ever?” Even the mention of his name brought with it a sharp pain, yet part of her was still hungering for news of him. Someday, Lindy vowed, she’d look back on these awful months and smile at the memory. Someday, maybe. But not now.

“Lindy, of course I won’t talk about Paul if you don’t want me to. I was being insensitive – forgive me, sweetie.”

“It’s all right, Mom.” Read more